Lessons on impermanence

The notion that parents who stare at (to the point of nearly swallowing) their babies while they sleep, ever STOP doing this, is ludicrous. Here i am, with my almost SEVEN year old (baby)boy. He is the same to me as he was sleeping on my chest 6 years ago. Only moreso. He is perfect to me. Each day he grows in his authentic ability to just BE himself, and I relish this. His freckles, though plentiful and speckled oh so perfectly across his face, are massively outnumbered by the ways in which I love him. He breathes easily in his sleep and with each exhale I long to inhale him. To keep him inside me forever. As this. As a child. Away from the potential for any harm. The dangers of this world that will threaten to steal him. Not from me, but from himself.

My mind wanders to the show, Intervention, with the drug addicted young adults. I watch with desperation and this feeling that it HAS to end okay. With the individual BEATING it. And it often doesn't and I weep. The interviews with the mothers never fail to shatter my heart. I end the show shackled emotionally with fear that this COULD be my child one day.

But for now, I will sit with my little (Man)boy and watch. His eyelashes long are like stories that he has to share. His breath like that which shall experience awe, the kind that takes the breath away. But just for that moment. It is all I can do. All I can hope for.