PYHO: The Weight Of Him

The to-do list I wrote up crinkles in my pocket as he adjusts his position, letting out a little sigh of contentment.  My left arm is asleep because when he fell asleep, he leaned onto my bicep.  The room has gone dark in the last hour, but the lights remain off.  The cats are begging for food, the dishes offend the eyes, and fur swirls under the fan along the carpet.

All of the thing that need to be done are, again, put on the back burner.  The Christmas gifts I need to finish?  The pie I promised?  The laundry that never gets put away? 

None of it matters in these moments.  The weight of him, the incredible warmth he gives off, the softness of his skin.  These things combined create magic, a feeling indescribable by words alone.  Perhaps with the addition of an orchestra and light show it could be done.  But I don't think so.  This time with him, these stolen moments when other things should be done, are priceless.

One day in the not-so-distant future, he won't need me as much.  He won't think the perfect place to rest is my body.  He will want to run, to jump, to have independence.  I will have to sneak the nuzzles of his neck, his scalp.  Tracing the lines of his hands, the creases in his wrists will no longer be a daily possibility, but a stolen luxury.

One day he will actually become the little boy I see in him so often now, and not a baby anymore.  He won't roll over seeking me, sleeping only when his hand comes in contact with my shoulder, when he can smell my skin close to his.  He won't regularly bury his head in my chest, bashful and loving, or reach up to touch my cheek while nursing or drinking a bottle.

And so that to-do list in my pocket will wait, will grow wrinkled, be lost until it turns up in the wash.  The cats will wait a little longer for food.  The furbaby dust bunnies will accumulate and the dishes will pile up.  Because in these moments, the weight of him is the most important thing, the most precious thing.  It is my reason for waking, for working.  The rest can wait while I drown in his softness, his odor, his absolute trust in me.  The rest doesn't matter while the weight of him fills my heart.