Stomping Little Feet

I look at him,

my patience

wearing thin.

The eyes of his father

and the pout I gave him.

Frowning at me.

He stomps his little feet

and swears

in baby language.

Frustrated

that he knows

what he wants

but can’t say

or can’t have.

Quite a big temper

for that little person.

Stubbornness

that is so familiar

my patience refills.

I can’t help but smile

at this “mini me”

as he stomps

his little feet

to his room.

I laugh

shake my head

and joke

“I’m in for it

when he’s a teen”.

I go to him,

its bedtime,

and he clings to me.

His tiny hand

strokes my hair

like always,

a sweet touch

that makes my heart

want to pour

out of my eyes

in joyful tears.

His fits and frowns

disappear

from his face

and my mind.

I can’t cradle him

oh no,

he won’t have that.

My baby is gone,

I can see that

as his legs

hang down my own.

I hug him and wish

that I could stop time

So that I

can have

this moment

Forever.

I am afraid

to open my eyes,

he might be grown,

I keep them closed

and cherish

his head

on my shoulder,

recording this

moment

for all eternity.