Small enough to hold

Griffin is tall. Really tall, especially for a two-year-old. Just over three feet already. And although he's not a baby anymore, he is still very much a little boy. And one who is still small enough to hold in my arms.

I've been noticing that lately. Paying very close, quiet attention to the moments (sometimes brief as they are) that he is trusting and content and still in my arms. "Up, Mama," seems to be his mantra of choice these days. He always wants me to pick him up. Sometimes so he can see what I'm doing -- cooking, chopping, cleaning, whatever -- sometimes I think just because he's missed me throughout the day and wants to be spoiled and cuddled and held. I'm always happy (breathless, thankful, overwhelmed) to oblige.

It's funny, when he was a baby, we actually were worried for a time because he didn't seem to be all that cuddly. He always seemed to be going, going, going...only sitting still for seconds at a time. That, of course, has changed quite a bit. He'll sit in your lap for book after book (Go Dog Go, Goodnight Moon, Polar Bear Polar Bear and The Eye Book being just a smattering of his current favs -- in Grif speak, Woof, Moon, Roar and Eye). He wants to be held after every bump and scrape (some bigger than others, but always running to be lifted up and consoled -- as if the power of my arms can make all the hurt go away). He'll run to me to be held when he's frightened or hesitant. He runs to me with a resounding "MAma!" and a huge smile when I come into his room at daycare at the end of the day...all but throwing himself into my arms. Sometimes, he'll walk right up to me, hold my face in his hands, and give me a big (slightly sloppy) Grif kiss. Or he'll sit on my lap, facing me, and just lean his forehead in til it touches mine. Full of easy, innocent wonder and love. These simple things overwhelm me.

Lately too, after bathtime, he likes to be cuddled while still wrapped up in his the towel, head on my shoulder. Which is one of the most amazing, startling, poignant times, since we are always in front of the bathroom mirror, where I can actually see his full weight -- his full trust and love -- as he collapses his whole body in my arms. I hold him up -- I hold him close -- physically and in so many other ways, in my heart, in my mind, down deep in my soul. Oftentimes here, I get the smallest, slightest twinge of envy, as I wish I was small enough still to be held so fully, so totally by someone else. I wish I could remember that feeling of being lifted up, and surrendering so completely. What an amazing thing.

And if he wakes up too early, either from a nap or in the morning, we will sit in his chair in his room, with his head on my shoulder, and his little long body still small enough to fill my lap. In silence, we'll just stay there, neither of us ready to get moving just yet. Me, holding him. Him, being held. And I'll look down at his sweet face, holding him close, and just reveling in, marveling in, wondering at the amazing, miraculous, natural thing it is to hold my child in my arms.