I'm sitting here watching my happy boy. He’s feeling better today. Sitting here watching him smile and squeal and bite his rubber giraffe and play with his toes. Sitting here watching him pirouette, Joni Mitchell filling the space with her cool sound putting us all in a trance. How does he do it with such grace and coordination?
He’s getting so big, looking so good, yet still so much like a baby. Spinning. Spinning in circles.
Sitting here watching my perfect boy, save the dark circles under his eyes, save the missing hank of white matter, save the seizures, save the drugs, save their side effects. He is sweetness embodied. He’s a pony boy, those long legs capped in white socks prancing in the jumper.
Sitting here watching and wishing for so much more. But I’ll take today, with its happy pony boy, this goofy, gangly, giggling boy, though still hoping for more tomorrow. Always hoping for more.
He’s getting so big, looking so good, yet still so much like a baby. Spinning. Spinning in circles.
Sitting here watching my perfect boy, save the dark circles under his eyes, save the missing hank of white matter, save the seizures, save the drugs, save their side effects. He is sweetness embodied. He’s a pony boy, those long legs capped in white socks prancing in the jumper.
Sitting here watching and wishing for so much more. But I’ll take today, with its happy pony boy, this goofy, gangly, giggling boy, though still hoping for more tomorrow. Always hoping for more.
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