Jack is up early this morning (long before the sun) and following the usual ritual, James brings him upstairs to snuggle. While I’m sorry to be deprived of the sleep I was enjoying, I wouldn’t trade for anything these quiet little tête-à-têtes before the day cracks open and everything becomes distraction. He’s particularly chatty today, carrying on a monologue about everything and nothing that I can only sometimes comprehend. As he tries out his ever-growing repertoire of words and inflections, I try not to giggle too much in the hopes that he’ll drift back to sleep.
It happens in an instant. He rests his cheek against my shoulder and nestles his golden downy head under my chin, grasping my clavicle with his dimpled hand. And the silent whisper, sweet and low, of his breath upon my skin moves me with more force than a hurricane ever could.
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