Most mornings, my partner is up before I am, and I relish my time sprawled out in bed, enjoying the bliss of the starfish position. It’s pure delight, and I eagerly await my youngest son’s arrival. He bounds in with tousled hair and an irresistible scent, snuggling up close. While my older children have outgrown this morning ritual, he still craves that precious “Mama time,” and I intend to hold onto this tradition for as long as he needs it.
Throughout the day, he can be found engrossed in play, whether he’s maneuvering his drone, exploring the depths of Minecraft, or concocting some imaginative trap. In those moments, he often doesn’t notice me passing by. Yet, suddenly, he’ll halt everything, wrap his arms around my waist, and declare, “I love you, Mom.” I hold on tightly until he decides to let go.
Wherever we are, be it home or out in the world, the moment music plays, we instinctively break into dance. Sometimes we’re cheek to cheek, other times a few feet apart; my older kids are always a bit embarrassed, but that doesn’t bother either of us. I keep dancing until he chooses to stop.
He’s never too busy to pose for a picture with me. In fact, he thrives on it—the sillier, the better! Whether we’re in a store or a restaurant, if he suggests a goofy mirror selfie, my answer is always yes. I’ll keep saying yes until he stops asking.
When he’s feeling down, I can swiftly turn his mood around. It often starts with me tackling him to the ground, pretending to be a silly monster while I tickle him until his laughter returns. Once he’s smiling again, I linger there on the floor, not rising until he does.
He still allows me to shower him with kisses, inhaling that delightful scent of childhood. Often, when we sit together, I can sense what he’s thinking. He leans into me, welcoming kisses on his cheeks and forehead. I won’t stop until he pulls away.
Holding hands while crossing the street or navigating crowded places is still on the table. He doesn’t need me to do this anymore, as he knows to stay close, yet he reaches back every time I grasp his hand. I don’t let go until he does.
He’s perfectly okay with me sneaking bites of his candy and sharing his last cookie. He giggles when I dip my finger into the icing of his cake, always offering more if I want it. Honestly, I’ll probably keep this playful behavior going, whether he likes it or not.
I know that growing up will change our dynamic. Like his siblings before him, he’ll gradually have less time and inclination for his mother. Hugs may become a rarity, and our morning snuggles will eventually become a fond memory. Public dancing may no longer be our thing, and coaxing him out of a bad mood with my silly antics may not work forever.
As my youngest child, he is my last, and I refuse to let go—not until he’s ready. I’ll ease up a little when the time comes, but that moment is not here yet. So, for now, we will embrace in our living room, hold hands in the grocery store, and capture silly moments together. I will fully immerse myself in these cherished experiences, holding on to each and every one.
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Summary:
This heartfelt piece reflects on a mother’s unwavering bond with her youngest child, celebrating their morning rituals, playful interactions, and the fleeting nature of childhood. As she cherishes each moment, she acknowledges that the time for letting go will come, but for now, she embraces every hug, dance, and shared smile.