Last night, you woke up in the middle of the night, crying out. A nasty nightmare was the culprit, and I scooped you up in my arms and held you in your dark room--a sliver of moonlight peeking in through the blinds and a blueish glow from your nightlight helping me see enough to wipe your tear stained cheeks.
Then we cuddled up in the rocking chair in the corner, you and I, with a soft yellow blanket that my grandma pieced together before she died. And you wiggled and squirmed until you found your comfy place, sprawled across my lap, your head nuzzled close against me, your right arm dangling behind my back. And I remembered rocking you just like this for so many nights in your infancy. Before you could tell me about the monsters in your dreams. When your little legs still fit in the soft circle of my arms while I held you, where now I felt your little toes curled around my calves. And I squeezed you just a little bit tighter while I sang you lullabies and held your hand.
And I thanked Heavenly Father for my mother's heart. That in that moment, in the middle of the night, I could long to hold you like that for an hour. For days. For weeks. For months.
My Kaden Boy, I am so blessed to be your mommy. Sometimes it is scary for me, watching you grow up. And thinking that someday you will cry about something I can't fix, something that won't be an imaginary monster in the dark. But I hope you will always know that I will still squeeze you close and hold your hand.
I love you so very much.