Our Little Man

I can't jump off the roof. I can't run out into traffic. I can't empty the contents of the medicine cabinet down my gullet. I can't because I'm still a mom and a wife and a daughter and a friend and a person. But mostly because I'm a mom.

I don't pin all my hopes, dreams and happiness on Eliot. But he needs me, and I need him. He's 19 months old and doesn't know any of the sadness his father and I feel, thankfully. From the minute I hear his little voice in the monitor at 6 AM ("Mommy, Daddy, where are you?") to the minute I lay him in his crib at bedtime, he needs us.

He needs us to chase him, tickle him, read to him, turn the channel ("teebee--on!" and "Teeee-OH" and "Elmo!"), build houses and forts, hide, seek. He needs his snacks ("Bunnies? Cup?") and his meals and his baths.

We needs his laughter, his smiles, his cute little voice, his hands, his kisses, his screams, his energy. Without him, I'm sure life would be a whole different, darker place. He gives us joy every day, a gift he gives without thought.

I know most certainly without him this would be so very impossible to endure. Just another reason on the pile of why and how I love him so.