Someday (a repost from July 10, 2010)

Someday you won't ask me to come watch you zoom your green plastic rummage sale boat through the bubbles in your bath.

Your height, chest, waist, ankles, and wrists will be done growing under my close observation.

Someday you will not want to cuddle up for prayers and stories.

You will not insist on laying directly on top of me when you come into my room for love before sunrise.

Someday you will not automatically reach for my hand in the parking lot.

I will not crouch quietly in the stairwell to make sure the big kids aren't talking about anything I do not want to have to explain to you later. 

Someday you won't be my every-moment-of-every-waking-hour sidekick. 

We won't write in the same gratefulness journal.

I won't be allowed to scrub the dirt from under your fingernails and toenails. 

Someday you won't run in the room during a commercial break to tell me all about the latest infomercial fad in great detail 
with all your adorable passion and zest.

Someday I won't get to explain things to you. 

Someday I won't need to tie or brush or bandage or buckle. 

I will watch you set off on your own; 
for a drive, 
to hang out with friends, 
on a date,
for a sport, 
for work... 
for college, 
your apartment, 
for your wife, 
your home, 
with your babies in tow...

Someday we will be apart and I will be learning how to live a life where you and I just visit. 

And as much as I fear that is going to turn to mush the best things I've ever known in and of me, I'm much MUCH more afraid of missing one single beat of today than to consider pulling back before my time. 

So, 

today I will come when you call. 

I will listen when you talk.

I will follow the butterfly with you all afternoon.

Today I will play board games.

I will race hot wheels.

I will walk, skip, and jog behind you on your bike.

I will notice every new centimeter of your size, every sweet curl in your hair,
every single beautiful expression you offer.

Today I will share everything I have. 

I will guide, counsel, teach and protect. 

Today we will be together. All day.  

We will explore and find, build and climb, hike and scale, swing and jump, roll and giggle. 

We will wait and write, sing and dance, hold and squeeze.

Today I will make sure that I never ever forget this time. 

And my solace will remain in the Truth: that when the photos are washed away, 
when the journals and blogs are gone, when the baby quilt and safe-kept first shoes are ashes 
we will be together forever. 

One day you, your Daddy and I will be united together with the One who created us. 

And there my heart won't slide over tears, and I'll never have to get over letting you go, piece by piece.

And that is the day this time can't slip away.