Moment

12:15 a.m. I decide my book and it's ending will still be there in the morning and I may even enjoy it a little bit more then anyway and head to bed.

12:25 a.m. Gavin wakes up and decides he doesn't want to go back to bed, at least his own bed that is. (with him in the same room as the girls it's a little hard to let him cry.)

12:40 a.m. Try to put Gavin back in his crib....no luck...he's back in bed with me.

12:50 a.m. Try, try again...Gavin not havin' it.

1:00 a.m. He discovers Daddy is also in the bed...say goodbye to cuddling with Mom.

1:07 a.m. Bret moves the port-a-crib to the play room so he can cry a little.

1:12 a.m. No more crying, sleeping baby, sleeping Daddy, sleeping Mom.

But in those early morning hours I was blessed with a moment.

As we lay there, heads on my pillow, noses almost touching, stroking his hair and back, he reached over, moved his hand across my shoulders, up my neck and traced the contours of my face over and over again. In that moment I was no longer tired, no longer wishing he was asleep in his bed so I could be asleep in mine. In that moment I caught a glimpse of the baby he has been, the boy he is becoming and the man he will be. And in that moment time stood still.

Special. Fleeting. Tender. Mine.