Every night, right before he falls asleep, my son reminds me what it means to be fully present.
He’s still a little lovey who fits in my arms—still dancing in that in-between place of baby and toddlerhood.
Every time I hold him like this, just the two of us wrapped in quiet, I think, This is the best part of my day. I could stay here forever.
But then, almost on cue, my to-do list rushes in. The dishes. The text messages. The laundry. The small “urgencies” that pull at me that really aren’t that urgent at all.
Tonight, though, a thought put everything in perspective for me: for him, there is no to-do list.
There is no “next thing” he has to get to.
No mental tabs open.
No quiet pressure to move on.
For him, it’s just him and mama.
That is the entire agenda of the moment.
He isn’t thinking about his crib or his toys or what comes after. His whole world, for those few minutes, is the warmth of my arms and the steady rhythm of being held.
And I realized—what a gift it is to be someone’s whole world, even for a fleeting moment.
