The other night you had a bad dream. I could tell because of HOW you cried. I could tell before I opened the door you were not truly awake, you were standing in the front corner of your crib with your head resting on your hands supported by the corner rails, just crying.

Most nights I give you a few moments, because you usually stop and fall right back asleep. This night you didn’t.

I picked you up, laid you in my arms across my body and “shushed” you. My intent was just to quickly calm you down and put you back in your crib. Instead, my mind wandered to a moment nearly a year ago of us sitting in your chair. We had just settled into our new routine of me back to work and you in daycare. I missed you every moment of the day and couldn’t wait to get you home. I nursed you to sleep that night, rocking in a dark room, lit only by the fish projection and surrounded by the ocean waves calling from your sound machine.

Tonight, I cried wondering who is this boy in my arms? Where has this year gone? You once just barely filled my arms sitting down and now are over half my length standing up. You are HEAVY to me, so much that my arms burned minutes after you started to drift back to sleep tonight.

I danced with you in that room, quietly avoiding the building blocks left scattered from after bath play time, like it was my job. I thought about the dance we would share one day.

Would I fit in YOUR arms? Will my head just barely hit your chest? Will our song be funny or sentimental? Will I cry or smile the whole time? I thought about the moms I get to see share that dance with their sons at weddings I’m trusted to document. Do those moms cherish that image like I will?

I’ve realized that as you’ve grown so have I. Into a mother and photographer who truly appreciates little moments and may just encourage them to last a little longer.