My Baby

A poem about my son growing up.

He sits next to me chattering.
The normal babble of an 8 year old boy,
about the fish that got away
and the frog he almost caught
and the time we went fishing until dark.

He throws his arms around me.
Wet lips kiss my cheek as giggles escape,
blonde hair tickles my nose
and he holds on for dear life
like he's never letting go.

I cherish these moments.
The fishing stories and tales of hunting,
the wet kisses and contagious giggles
that make me realize just
how fast he's growing up.

These moments keep him small.
They hold him in a place where he's my little boy,
they keep him from growing into a "big boy"
and in need of his mama
even though he really doesn't need me for much.

He's growing up too fast.
Something my poor heart cant take,
so my mind refuses to accept the fact he's tall
and he's so very smart
and so mature for being just 8.

Then he runs from the room to play.
And I'm left with a lingering memory,
of a child who will always be my baby
no matter how many fishing stories he tells
or how tall he may get.

Reviews

[Blogger]

This is so very sweet. Sounds like a lucky young guy. Cute kid too!

[Victoria Mae]

Awe thank you. I couldn't help jotting that off as he was right next to me. Just gotta love a little morning inspiration.