Dear little boy.

You came down with a nasty cough this weekend, right as your dad was leaving town for work. It caught up to you on Sunday night, which I spent sleepless - your sweaty self wrapped tightly around my arm, your forehead touching mine. It's true that working parenthood is hard and exhausting and lonely sometimes, too. I haven't thought of this so much as I've thought of how hard it will be when you no longer need the assurance of my closeness at 2am, on the eve of the first day of spring.

I've seen you put more words together in the last few weeks - "Mama, look!" and "Mama back please" (translation: "rub my back, mom"; he's definitely mine). I've seen your budding bravery, tempered with cautiousness, tempered with a desire to figure out the details. I've seen empathy, a hunger for relationship. Already, I'm so, so proud of you.

This. This is generally what I'm thinking of at 2am, on sleepless nights.

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