He plays with my fingers. He always does it. We’re a lot alike in that sense – always having to be touching. He doesn’t just lay next to you, he lays with you. In one space – making “my” space a little larger – making it an “our” space.
Sometimes it’s a be-socked foot. Sometimes it’s the cock of his head lazily resting those curls on my shoulder. Sometimes it’s just his fingers that want to play with the tips of mine while lazily and almost unconsciously attending to The Wonder Pets
He isn’t still often, but when he is he does it very, very well. When he is I catch a sideways glimpse of his profile. I get to see the round peachy cheeks in their full glory and I can’t help but reach out and stroke one just a little – and he smiles quietly because he likes that.
When he is still I get to feel his little breath on my neck as he rests his head. His breath smells of fruit from a snack. The rest of him smells of “boy”. Long gone are the days of baby smells. He left those in the dirt that he now takes pleasure in exploring.
When he is still he whispers. Our conversations are quiet and secret but I’m not sure why. He questions and giggles and tells stories and even sings all as if we are in a tiny bubble that might burst from noise.
He wants to honk my nose and look me intently in the eye and talk in sentences with no end. He wants to crawl under the sheets, show me his belly button and his heart – and I’m happy to be a part of it all for as long as he’ll let me.
There are times when I revel in all the noise and motion and laughs and riotous energy that is him. But it is spending time still that I like the most.