The Best Thing

As we cuddle together, his body slowly becomes limp and he sleeps. He had insisted on "the tickle" right until he succumbed. He becomes entranced whenever I take my nails and skim them across his back or arms and neck. When I stop, he wiggles and panics and says, "Tickle, tickle" over and over again until I begin again. Then he says, "Ahhhh, tickle," and he's content. The kid's an addict. I had just changed his diaper before bedtime and he was exhausted from another day of toddler adventure. He hair was a riot of curls around his head and a few places were sticky from some ice cream he had eaten earlier. I ran my fingers through his hair cherishing the baby-soft feel of it. I could feel the child growing inside of me kick against him as if to say, "Hello? I'm in here and you're crushing me!" He is oblivious. I enjoy listening to his breath and keep up "the tickle" even though he doesn't feel it now. He looks like a cherub with his rosy cheeks, pink lips, extremely long lashes curling upward, and curly blond hair. I gently turn him around till I'm cradling him and take him off to bed. As I lay him on his bed and tuck him in for the night, he doesn't wake. He's lost in toddler dreamland. I turn on the fan and look back at him. I kneel down beside his bed, kiss his hand once...twice....three times. Feeling as if my pregnancy hormones are about to take over and my emotions burst into fragments, I say a prayer for my son and leave the room. But my thoughts do not leave him. I often wonder what is in store for my sons. I often wonder what I can do beyond teach them, care for them, and love them. As I stand outside his bedroom door, I pray, "Be with my sons, Lord. Protect them. Give them wisdom." That is the best thing I could do for them.