Dancing in the Kitchen

It had been a long week.  Cramping and Braxton Hicks had almost sent me to the hospital, my husband and I had both been busy with work, the days had been hot and muggy, and I was just trying to clean up the dishes so I could put my son to bed and sit down to veg on Facebook.  My phone was blasting a favorite Pandora station.  Suddenly I heard a sweet little voice say, “Mama, dance!”  I looked down to see my almost two-year-old son reaching up for me. 

I almost told him “not now”.  I was too busy, too tired, too worn out to be bothered.  But I didn’t.  Instead, I remembered how fleeting these moments would be…how quickly I’d be aching to hold him and giggle and dance.

I pick up my sweet halfbaby, halfboy in my arms and we dance.  He crinkles his nose and rams my face with his little boy version of an “eskimo” kiss.  His pudgy little hands hold tight to my neck.  I soak up the sweet smell of his soap mixed with dirt and grass.  He pats my back and whispers a contented, “Mama.”

Dirty dishes sit in the sink.  Laundry needs to be followed.  But right now I’m dancing with my son…and that’s all that matters.