It was only a dream

It was a day much like today. Golden leaves hang like Christmas ornaments on the white birches outside my window. I wake effortlessly and rested. What times was it? It had to be at least 8 o'clock. Maybe even 9. I quickly walk down the hall to my baby's room. He has usually woken me by now. I look, in shock. Where his white crib once stood, rests an oak four poster bed. A matching dresser holds picture frames, soccer trophies...a worn jersey hangs on display. I dash to my eldest son's room to find a similar scene. Shades of navy and red cast a warm glow on the hardwood floor. Downstairs I find an immaculate home. Not a toy in sight...not a highchair, a swing or bouncy seat. I know this is my home. I see my children's faces on the wall as babies. But what I don't understand are the faces that look like my children. I see it in the eyes, in the wrinkle of the nose, the dimple of a cheek. These are my children. But they are grown. The house is so quiet it is deafening. No matter how hard I try, I hear no laughter, no squeals...no little feet padding down the hall. I am utterly and entirely, alone. I had imagined this moment. Even fantasized about it. I could go take a shower, a nap...maybe read a book. But all I wanted was to hold my babies. At that moment I would have given anything to read that story one more time to my toddler. I didn't need two hands to make my coffee. My hip felt empty and cold without my baby on it.

It is dark. It is 2am and I am exhausted. I hear a cry coming from the monitor on my bedside table. I race to my baby's room and scoop him up. I feel his warm and sweaty head against my chest. His chubby fingers twirl my hair. He noisily eats while gently kicking his little feet. I feels tears well in my eyes. Tonight, he is my baby. Tomorrow he may be grown. Tomorrow he may not need me. But tonight? I will fill his belly with love. I will hold him close and breathe in that sweetness that is only his. I will kiss him too many times. And with a dribble of milk on his chin, I will lay him warm and snuggly and content into his crib.

And when the sun rises, I will catch a small boy who yells "mama, I fly to you!" And we will read that book "just one more time". Breakfast will be messy and I'll still need just one more cup of coffee. And my boy will ask "I make you happy, mama?" all while making a giant mess. But this time, I'll remember that cool morning in November. The one where my babies were grown. So I'll squeeze them a little bit tighter and smile just a little bit sweeter and "yes baby, you make mama so happy". That was only a dream, but this...this IS the dream.