Four Years, Twenty-Six Days

Your blonde curls
a warm soft nest for your head
on a pillow twice your size
as you sleep
sideways
crisscross applesauce
in mommy and daddy’s bed.
You woke in the middle of the nite
wanting light
explaining that your jammies were wet because
Puppy had somehow gotten into your bed and
just peed.
By the night light
we changed into warm, dry jammies
and you climbed into our bed
your little breath, in and out
dreaming of super heroes and spaceships.
This morning I tiptoed out and left you sleeping
to go make some morning eggs and coffee.
You slept
long.
A growing little boy
Full of new verbs and dreams
and a self-consciousness that you didn’t have a few months ago
A fear that people might laugh at your hat
or say you still talk like a baby when you call musical instruments “Daba-dees”
or the television
“Gawke.”
You’re growing up so fast, I think,
as I peek in on you,
still fast asleep.
But then I see you just now
with your thumb in your mouth
Just like you used to sleep when you were a baby.
Your eyes flutter open
and you see me
seeing you
and you quickly take your thumb away
as if you were letting go
of something.