Sitting there.
You.
Him.
This boy leaning on your shoulder, that one in his arms.
Perfect. Everything about this moment is perfect.
Sunday morning.
Toe tickling, and a storybook.
The bed is exactly wide enough for the four of you.
And last week it was exactly wide enough for three.
And before that, two fit perfectly.
But was there ever a before?
You have to remind yourself. You strain to remember.
Love them all so much, you can barely remember life with out them.
If you try, it is a faint, fuzzy, memory.
Once upon a time, it was before your wedding.
Logically you know that last Sunday at the park you were a family of three.
Today you are “plus one pumpkin seat” as you chase a toddler on a tricycle.
But still it seems, your love, your children, have been a part of your lives since always.
The timeline that tells the story of our lives isn’t linear.
Perhaps it’s heart shaped?
Perhaps it circles around us like an embrace?
This beautiful boy.
Nineteen months.
That sweet baby.
A week.
But in actuality you have loved them both, and each other, forever.
Since always.
Hearts don’t wear watches.
