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.