The muse keeps a' moving, and Awkward Mom keeps getting run over.
We stand in the doorway, watching your brothers play.
Your dangling legs pump up and down against my hip; you are so eager to be gone.
You tap your directions,
a frenzied air dance that heralds the force you will become.
Let me hold you awhile longer.
Watch out the window with me,
drawing your first masterpieces on the cold glass.
Cuddle up to me as you fall asleep.
Let your little hands pluck lullabies on my shirt and aimlessly paint my shoulder.
I know that you want to dance, but please, let me hold you.
Just a little while.
Just while you wait to leave me in your inevitable burst of bold brilliance.
Just until then.
Nothing quite as awkward as a beautiful picture of Super Baby with a date and incorrect time stamped on her face....
That muse needs to learn not to strike at quarter to 6 when Awkward Mom is just looking for a reason to avoid making dinner. Super Kids gotta eat!