You grasp my hand and pull me toward the booth where the hostess waits.
There is no longer any discussion of a high chair or booster seat.
You simply won’t have it.
You hoist yourself onto the seat, bounce two times for good measure.
The server greets us and you order milk, please and reach for the crayons.
Your milk arrives and I watch you lift it with hands that don’t yet reach all the way around the cold cup.
And you smile through the orange bendy straw.
I watch you and still can’t believe you’re mine.
Can’t believe how much I am not me without you.
You smile at your sister and without a word, she smiles back and hands you a red crayon, barely used.
Your eyes connect and there’s something there between the two of you that I can’t permeate.
So I watch in awe and gratitude.
Moments pass and I glance at your daddy who sees exactly what I see.
And I say to him, we’ll be okay. I know now. We’ll be more than okay.