Time Doesn't Stop

I opened the door as quietly as I could and stepped into his room. It was dark, with all of the lights out and the blinds drawn shut. I could smell him. The scent hit me like a tidal wave, a combination of baby soap and lotion. His room is not large, it's actually the smallest room in the house, but it is big enough for what he needs. A changing table, a rocker and a crib each hold their posts against a wall. Clean clothes are folded and stacked on the floor, waiting patiently for when I have time to put them away.  A white blanket from his great-great-grandmother lays  folded over the top of the rocker, waiting to be wrapped around him. Mickey Mouse sits in the corner waiting to be played with.

I can hear him breathing. Slowly and deeply. I close my eyes even though there is no light. I want to mesmerize the rhythm of his breaths. I want to remember this moment, standing in this room listening to nothing but the breathing of my sweet boy. He doesn't know that I am there, but I know that in this moment it is just he and I. In this dark, quiet room that smells of everything baby, the world has stopped.

I slowly walk towards his crib. He is a deep sleeper but force of habit has me tip-toeing across the carpeted floor. I lean over the edge of his crib and see him laying there. Dressed in his red and white stripped footed pajamas he is sleeping on his stomach. I am taken aback. This is the first time he has rolled over to sleep on his stomach. Laying there with his little baby butt in the air he looks so much like a little boy. I close my eyes again, this time willing time to stop. Please stop.

Mama, I hear in a tiny whispered voice. I open my eyes. Time hasn't stopped and I am reminded by that faint little whisper that no matter how many wishes I make, it won't. Babies Grow.