It is almost 10 pm now. My baby has been asleep for nearly two hours. I know that I should rest too, but sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark gives me some much needed time for meditating. He has a stuffy nose still, so I've propped him up to sleep. I can hear the short, deep breaths he takes. And, because a ribbon of light peaks through the door, I can see that he has his arms and legs sprawled out on the expanse of the bed. I know that he should be in his own bed by now, but we've grown accustomed to his presence. I know that I don't sleep soundly with him beside me, but I'm not convinced I would sleep any better without him so close.
At the birth of my nieces and my nephew, I remember saying how miraculous life is. I remember the flood of emotion that swept over me upon cradling their tiny torso and gazing upon their tiny appendages. I never thought that love could be that intense.
As I sit here on the edge of my bed, I realize that life is a miracle. But, an even greater miracle is the love felt for someone whom I have known such a short time. It is almost as if I have known him my entire life.
Good night, my prince. I love you so very much.
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