The story of my life Photo: Womens Dish

The story of my life
Photo: Womens Dish

His sticky fingers curl around mine and pull. His head pushes into that soft space just below my ribs and I hear him exhale. Still I am unwilling to move or swivel my chair so he can climb up at my desk placing himself prominently between what I want to focus on and me, his focal point.

I have a deadline to meet. I explained all that to him already.

He climbs under my desk and places his head in my lap singing softly to himself. My fingers will not move, cannot move, because I have no words in my head to channel to my fingers. All I have is this boy, wanting my attention, needing his Mama to hold him, look in his eyes, and sing right along with him.

But I have a deadline to meet. I told him already.

Slowly he shimmies his way up knee first, then arm around my waist, and before I know it there he is looking full into my face. Those eyes, that face. My arms encircle his waist and I start to sing along and then our voices rise together. He laughs and his hot breath sweeps across my face and I forget all about my deadline.

At the end of the song he lays his tired head on my shoulder and my fingers began to flow with words. And I write as a bundle of two people, meeting that deadline and all the while whispering in my son’s ear – I am willing – always.

Trying something new this morning and writing with the Five Minute Friday community.