Most mornings, my partner is up before I am, while I relish the bliss of lying in bed, sprawled out like a starfish. It’s pure bliss. I eagerly await my youngest son’s arrival. He bursts into the room with tousled hair and an irresistible scent, snuggling close to me. While my two older children have outgrown this morning ritual, he still craves that special “Mama time” at dawn. I plan to hold onto this cherished tradition until he decides to let it go.
During the day, whether he’s immersed in a game of Minecraft, flying his drone, or constructing a trap, he can become so absorbed that he hardly notices me passing by. Yet, out of nowhere, he’ll halt his activity, wrap his arms around my waist, and exclaim, “I love you, Mom.” I refuse to release my embrace until he pulls away.
No matter where we are—inside the house or out in public—whenever music plays, we instinctively start dancing together. Sometimes we sway with our arms around each other; other times, we keep a distance of a few yards. My older kids often cringe at our antics, but it doesn’t bother either of us. I won’t stop dancing until he chooses to.
He never hesitates to strike a pose for a photo with me. He enjoys it, especially when we take goofy selfies in front of mirrors, whether in a store or at a restaurant. My response is always a resounding yes—I’ll keep saying yes until he stops asking.
When he’s feeling down, I can still lift his spirits. Typically, this involves me playfully pouncing on him, pretending to be a silly monster, and tickling him until laughter replaces his frown. Once he’s smiling again, I linger beside him, not getting up until he decides it’s time.
He allows me to shower him with kisses, inhaling his delightful scent. Sometimes, I think he can read my mind when we sit close together. He leans in, welcoming my kisses on his cheeks and forehead. I won’t stop until he pulls away.
He still holds my hand while crossing the street, in crowded places, or simply when I feel like it. He doesn’t truly need this anymore, as he knows to stay close to me. Each time I reach for his hand, he takes hold of mine. I won’t let go until he does.
He’s perfectly fine with me sneaking bites of his candy without asking and shares cookies, even the last one. He chuckles when I dip my finger into the icing of his cake, always urging me to take more if I’d like. Honestly, I’ll probably keep doing this, whether he appreciates it or not.
I understand that he’ll grow up quickly, just like his older siblings. Soon, he may not want my kisses as much, hugs might become a rarity, and our morning cuddles will fade into fond memories. Public dancing will become a thing of the past, and my silly antics may not be enough to lift his spirits.
As my youngest child, my last little one, I refuse to let go—not until he is ready. I might loosen my grip when the time comes, but that moment is not here yet. For now, we will dance in our living room, hold hands at the store, and capture memories together in random places. I intend to fully embrace these moments, treasuring each one.
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In summary, this piece reflects on the cherished moments between a mother and her youngest son, emphasizing the importance of holding onto these connections while they last. As children grow, parents must adapt, but some traditions are worth preserving as long as possible.