I Love You

I creep across the floor of your room and listen to the rhythm of your breath. Your chest steadily rises and falls. Your face is soft, round, and peaceful. When I'm sure you are asleep, I plant a kiss on your forehead. You won't always be so small. Someday soon, you'll begin to move your chubby little feet one at a time over the wooden floors. You will go from walking to running, and soon I'll have to be careful not to let you play with the pretty yellow lines on the street in front of our house. Your grubby little hands will pick me dandelions, and your spaghetti-covered face will smear tomato sauce on my cheeks. I'll blink, and you will have moved out of my house. You'll meet a nice girl, and she'll become the most important woman in your life. But that's okay. That's how it should be. Will you be the kind of son who brings me lilies every Mother's Day because you know they're my favorite, or will you be the kind of son who forgets to text me happy birthday? I don't know. So I'll take this moment to kiss your forehead and tell you how much I love you.