I swear, if he could he would make a valiant effort at climbing back inside the womb.
(But since there’s not a chance in hell that’s ever going to happen, he has to make due with close-knit embraces instead)
He squirms and he rolls and he arches his way into my arms
burrowing his head into my chest
and then his breathing deepens
his muscles relax and for a split second
his soul merges with mine
and suddenly he is finally asleep
I lay there and remember
all of the times I burrowed into my father’s arms
when there was no safer place on the planet than laying there next to him
my own personal superhero
And in this moment
as I lay with my son in my arms
a million doubts racing through my mind while his steady breathing assures me he’s none the wiser
I think about the fact that I’m super glad he doesn’t know I’m just winging it right now.
Because I totally am.
Just winging it.
Which means that while he was promising to keep me safe
while he promised me the world, while he lay next to me and swore to protect me and keep me from harm
my dad was most likely winging it too
And for some reason that makes me feel much better
because as far as winging it goes, he did a pretty kick ass job.
I can only hope it’s genetic.