When he sits on my lap his soft body moulds to mine. Perfectly relaxed, he snuggles with no self-consciousness at all; my body might as well be his.
His eyes light up every time he sees me. His giggles burst forth freely and uninhibited. He takes joy in me, and I in him.
I’m savouring these moments with my last baby. All too soon he will grow out of his babyness. He will lose the divine dimples in his hands. His little bow legs will straighten and lengthen with the promise of strength and muscle to come.
Then when he sits on my lap, our reverse polarity will begin to be revealed. The start of his boyish angles will stop him settling so completely into me. Little boys never stop moving entirely. His fidgety body will resist my efforts to snuggle. He will seek me out when he is hurt, or sad, or scared. Then I will greedily gather him in my arms, making the most of the rare abandon.
I’m not ready to let go of his babyhood just yet. He is getting ready to, though, and it’s breaking my mummy-heart.