this moment

We set out for the garden to see what needs to be done. I weed and harvest a few things while you entertain yourself. You make your rounds. First you check to see if there are any ripe tomatoes, even a few unripe ones will do. You don't really eat these, but you sure enjoy playing with them. I ask you to please not pick the green ones and try to give them a chance to ripen, but I take a deep breath and realize that we have plenty. Next, you grab a handful of broccoli and start munching. Then, you stumble upon a surprise, a second coming of raspberries. Just a few, but a miracle in your world nonetheless.

You love to dig in the dirt and search for worms. I periodically pop my head up to see where you are, ever thankful of the fence keeping you in the garden. Are you eating something you shouldn't? Have you discovered the hot peppers? Are you torturing a millipede (your favorite)? I hand you a sugar snap pea as you pass by and you happily snatch it up and start crunching.

After our work is done, we find ourselves in the blueberry patch. You know the drill. You lift the bird netting and slip underneath. You have scores of blueberries right at eye level and you dig in. I move about the bushes, filling a carton. I slip under the netting and sit with you while we both keep picking. Mine go in the box and yours go in your mouth.

Our eyes meet and you sign that you want milk. There we sit, nursing, hidden amongst the blueberry bushes. Just the two of us. I stare at your sweet berry-stained face and remember the days, not so long ago, when I couldn't even leave you to go to the bathroom or take a shower. I notice how big you are, how your long body is quickly outgrowing my lap. I kiss your sweet smelling head and hope that no matter how big you are, you'll always let your mama kiss your head.

I lift my head up, face to the sun, and I'm so grateful. For you, for this moment, this sunshine, these blueberries, this life.