I walk the halls with my baby in the night. I walk halls where the hardwood floor squeaks and moonlight seeps through the secret words I whisper in his tiny ear. Mother and child, we walk this hall together, our love thicker than the darkest black of the night sky. We are unsearchably deep, my boy and me.
His sleeper is soft fleece and his tiny fingers, slightly damp grasp my neck, my hair, my mama heart, adoring. His tears fall warm and he sighs deep heaving sighs. I shush and I bounce, I pat and I keep walking these halls, one barefoot step in front of the other. And when nothing else seems to calm, I begin to hum and the music of our song fills the hall. And like any mother, if it would make all wrongs right, I would gladly sing and sing and keep on singing, to soothe this babe I love, to say the things that words cannot. And because he knows my voice and he knows our song, those heaving sighs give way to the silence of ears listening, to comfort and then slowly, ever so slowly, my sweet baby begins to dream. One chubby cheek upon my shoulder, squished and delightful, he is mine and I am his. I lay him in the crib and I memorize every detail I can of this little life. Blonde hair, black lashes, rosebud lips. I store all the details of him away in a place where they are safe and cannot be erased.
For he will grow and forget.
But I will age and remember.
We are unsearchably deep, my boy and me.