{to my boys}

Today you turn five years old.

Five years of being your momma, as you've started to call me again. I secretly love it. OK, maybe not so secretly.

Five years of you needing me, and me slowly realizing how much I need you. I'm sorry it took me awhile to come around. I'm like that with all big changes in my life. 

And now that you are no longer babies, I'm hanging onto those last bits of holding and rocking, boo-boo kissing and cuddling. I wrote this for you...

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And So We Do

"Mommy, will you rock me?" he says in the room lit by two night lights and insulated by artificial ocean sounds. 

"You're too big to be rocked," was my immediate response.

A small whimper. The same request again...this time pleading.

I'm exhausted. Frustrated. Aching for a bit of time to call my own.

You just want to be rocked. 

To feel the strong yet gentle hold my arms offer. The slow rocking as your toes graze the carpet each time I bow to the right. 

My right arm cradles your long lean legs, the crook of my elbow a sling for your limp knees. You melt into me. 

"What song do you want?" I ask. This plays on repeat most nights...sometimes four or five times before your sleep comes. 

"I love you Benny," you whisper. This is my made-up lullaby. 

Back and forth our bodies sway in unison as I softly sing the words, "I love you Benny, oh yes I do." It is a short session, much unlike the ones when rocking was a part of our routine, in a proper chair, the repetitive sway making my eyes as heavy as yours...both of us drifting off to a quiet place together. 

I often admire your feet. Still untouched by the world. Smooth skin. No callouses or cracks. They remind me that your spirit is the same...so naive to the world I knew that causes my heart to race and ache. 

You just want to be rocked.

And so we do.

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Happy birthday my beautiful boys...I'm so thankful to be your momma.