Rocking in the big, yellow chair in my two-year-old’s room, the sweet folk melodies of the Fleet Foxes fill the room. The nightlight shines in the corner, throwing light and shadows on the beige walls.
My son’s little head nuzzles into my shoulder as his eyes close. I rest my lips on the top of his head, feeling his fine hair tickle them. I feel his warm weight leaning into me. Shifting, he climbs up onto my lap facing me, curling his legs under him. Then he’s back to sitting on my lap, his head leaning onto my chest. Every once in a while, he unceremoniously squirms and kicks the arm of the chair, trying to get comfortable. Eventually, he drifts off, his breathing becomes steady and his arms limp. I wrap my arms around him, cradling him as I place him in his crib.