It isn’t so much that I’m excited to see him at the end of his day as that my body longs to be with his. The need to pick him up and caress him seems to be increasing just as it gets more difficult to do so. Sometimes, especially right after he wakes up in the morning, or when we’re reading together in his room at night, he’ll still sit on my lap, lean back against my chest, and allow me to put my face in his hair. In those moments there is a surge of contentment so intense that I can hardly see the page in front of me.
