Stop the Clock

He’ll be two in two days and I want to

stop the clock. Sure, there are moments when he’s

not so cute: saying "owie, owie!" and crying at the slightest

bump; pressing the buttons on the DVD player so it takes

an hour to set it up right again; pushing away any and all

food we put on his plate; crying out for his binkie at

three-thirty in the morning. But I’d take all that a

thousand times over if I could just keep the way

he loves to snuggle at night; his cute,

"Love you, Mommy" right before I turn out the light;

the constant "I did it!" thrill after accomplishing any

task; the way he loves to "help" us do dishes, take out the

garbage, make the bed, sweep the floor (okay, this could

sometimes be in the annoying column); his fascination with

all lights on or off; his love of hide-and-seek:

"Where’s Ty? Here I am!";

the joy he finds in little things, "jump!jump!jump!".

Oh I know there will be moments of pride and joy in the future:

choosing to be kind to a new kid at school; sacking the

quarterback in a football game; cooking his first dinner for the

family; earning an A in a really tough class. But I wonder if

those moments will bring with them a little ache in my heart

for the little boy–so sweet and innocent–that he is right at

this moment. There will come a day when he doesn’t sing with

gusto at his Barney cartoon; when he doesn’t run to Mommy

and ask me to kiss his foot that he just hurt. He will

probably be embarrassed by me at some point, and

wish I wasn’t his mom. And that’s okay.

But for now, I want to hold on to this moment

in time where his daddy and I are his whole world.

He’ll be two in two days and I want to

stop the clock.