Who will he become?
These hands, holding on to my face for dear life, drawing me near.
Will they slide a shining ring upon another’s finger?
These lips, imparting slobbery kisses over my own.
Whose face will they one day softly graze?
These arms, wrapped so tightly around my own.
Who will they hold someday?
These feet, these little chunky feet, feet that I’m not afraid to kiss all over.
What kind of shoes will they wear? The sturdy covering of a work boot? The soft gleam of leather?
I swear I’m not going to become one of those moms, holding on to her son at his wedding and crying and screaming.
But I’m sure I will shed a tear or two.
Because already, I wonder about the woman in his life.
The woman who will never know the little boy, the one that I bore.
And raised and nursed and cuddled.
The one that will hold the hands that I have held and taste the lips that I have fed.
I wonder sometimes what it was like for my mother-in-law to meet me.
To have her little boy bring home a girl, a girl that would become his wife, make him a father of his own.
I know it will happen someday.
But for right now, I just can’t fathom that this little boy…
Will someday become a man.