Parenting is all about the moments. The moments you stop doing the dishes to read a story with your child. The moments you hold a hurt child in your arms. The moments of laughter. The moments that shine.
Today, my little man asked me to dance. We’d been playing an intricate game of cement truck, fire truck and police car that had more plot twists than the final season of Lost, while listening to the Beatles. As “Let it Be” began to play, he looked up and said, “Mommy, let’s dance.” And so we did.
We stood, holding hands while we swayed, spun and dipped. I lifted him up on my hip and held tight to his little boy body, so different from the baby I once rocked to endless loops of music in the late afternoons. I showed him how a gentleman dances with a lady. I rested my head on his bony shoulder, breathing in the promise of the man he’d become. I felt his little hand on my back, the giggle in his throat as we turned.
The song played on. The afternoon sun slanted through the playroom windows and, for a moment, the whole world shone.