Soft squeaks awake me from a shallow sleep. Seven warm pounds stir and stretch against my deflated belly, rooting around to find a meal. I awaken to find two dark little eyes peeking at me through the dim light of our bedroom.

The whole world is sleeping, and my whole world is you.

Three babies in and most would think me a seasoned mother. One who would recognize, even come to expect, this feeling. But its all still so wonderfully new. I get butterflies when you look into my eyes. And your brown skin and dark hair are so beautiful I cry just looking at you. Every time I set you down to give my tired arms a rest, I miss holding you. And when you curl up in a ball, sleeping on my chest, my heart cracks open letting even more of you in. Pressing even more of me out, making a space all your own inside me.

This time with you is precious. It ticks rapidly by, your newness. Rushing forward I cannot stop you from getting bigger. Stronger. You are healthy and thriving, and for that I am incredibly grateful. Someday my son, you will be a mighty man. You will do great things and love in great ways.

But holding you–a newborn–in my arms I am surprised to find myself starting over with you in the same way. Fresh. Innocent. Full of possibility. Thank you, my sweet boy, for giving me the overwhelming wonder of being your mama. For letting me fall in love with you. For giving me the chance to be newly born into this marvelous mystery of motherhood all over again.

I cannot hold you back from outgrowing my arms. But you, my precious stone, you will never outgrow my heart.

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