I get irritated when he wakes up and cries. I just got him down. Seriously, he’s awake. Only I can console him with my breath, with my breast, with my best intentions. I think to myself, he won’t be this tiny for long. He has already grown so much. It seems like yesterday he was just nine days old; now, he’s almost nine months. His heart inflated, his tears frame his face. His heart hurts for me. I am there. Right there. On my side, on our family bed. Laying peacefully next to him, planning my escape. Then I think – this won’t last. This won’t last. He won’t turn to you at seventeen with those lips, with that smile. With those little arms and feet dangling there, lost in the translation of time. He just won’t. But you will long for this moment. You will. You will want this moment back. So just breath, just be, just see. Just take a step back and let him see, you as his mother. Feel you as mother. Breath you in as mother. As his lovie that lulls him to sleep.