I'm struck with how perfectly and utterly I love my son. I miss him when he sleeps, and I go in to watch him sleep for a second or two. There he is, his skin glows paler than in the daytime, hands are tucked away in a blanket or around his little stuffed cow.
As I'm standing there, sweetly missing the delight of his giddy humor and the funny way he sneaks up and plops his hands on my shoulders for a piggyback ride, I think ahead to the morning, when I'll walk in after listening to him talk for a minute or so, and I'll open the curtain, and he'll blink through his smile, like he's looking out from under a shade. Every morning, we're so happy to see each other again.
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