Our Sleeping Boy

He asked to fall asleep in our bed at a moment when all the stars of adorability had aligned, and we agreed. We both worked on our laptops as he nestled between us.

Though his breathing has slowed and is steady, his pulse races compared to mine as I watch a vein on his neck beat-beat, beat-beat along. I know he’s asleep before I can see his eyes because his lips are just parted, in an expression saved only for sleep, or intent tv watching. When I lean around the pillow to be sure, his eyelashes are closed, a soft dark curve against his flushed cheek.

And if there had been any doubt, it vanishes when, for good measure, he snores one distinct, resolute six-year-old snore.

Comments

  1. Trilby says:

    Nothing compares to the feeling of your own sweet child nestled between you and your husband. Nothing. I love your beautiful, expressive writing Amy. Patiently waiting for your next book…whatever it may be.

  2. Melody says:

    Yes. Beautiful. You have a gift for writing. You’re an artist.

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