I love this little boy so much that sometimes I fear that my heart cannot bear such brutality. I try to remember this on days like today, when he has a cold and he is cranky, bossy, rude and demanding, when I’m snappy and short and impatient. But when he is in bed, asleep and I have calmed down his nerves and mine, and I look through our pictures from my camera and I just want to sit and cry at how quickly all this is passing.
Today, I looked up as he followed J down the stairs and he looked like a kid, not my baby, not a toddler- a kid. In his navy shorts and a bandaid on his finger and scrapes on his knee, there he was – a little boy. And with every fibre of my body, I willed time to pause.
He got down the stairs and called out “Mommy” in his sweet 2 year old voice and just like that he was my baby again. At least for today.
The title is from the last two lines of W.B Yeats A Cradle Song
A Cradle Song
The angels are stooping
Above your bed;
They weary of trooping
With the whimpering dead.
God’s laughing in Heaven
To see you so good;
The Sailing Seven
Are gay with His mood.
I sigh that kiss you,
For I must own
That I shall miss you
When you have grown
———-William Butler Yeats
Orange You Grape 