I open the door and he is instantly silenced, arms outstretched. I pick him up and we settle back into the glider for the third time, rocking in the dark. I don’t sing this time, just rock and think.
I think about the new website I’ve been building that is already dusty, full of “coming soon”. I think about the unfinished writing. The clean laundry wrinkling in a heap. The DVR queue still full. The jobs for which I should apply.
Every night for months, I’ve undergone this battle.
Every night, at some point I let it go. I rock and think, smelling his hair, looking at his chubby feet and recognizing how quickly my sweet boy is getting too long to comfortably lay in my lap.
And so I’ll rock – and for once remember: This crowding of time and falling of priorities isn’t always because of I’m losing myself. It’s because this is simply the largest part of who I am right now.
I’m sure by the time that sinks in, he’ll be asking me to drop him off a block away from school.
Tonight, this room, this boy and me, rocking, is more than enough.