He sits here, reading to me.
I’m in awe.
He’s been reading for a while but the harder the books get, the harder my heart explodes with joy and gratitude and pride.
He carefully reads each page, making sure I’m paying close attention. He wants to be noticed and seen. He has no clue that I’ve been tracking his every move since he was just a tiny baby.
He has no idea that I spent hours discussing his future with doctors. He has no idea that I watched from the sidelines of each physical therapy and speech therapy session. Honestly, he probably doesn’t even remember therapy.
He has no idea that I’ve been paying close attention to every move since before he could crawl or walk or talk. He has no idea that one day, a long time ago, I was fearful and scared about milestones missed and developmental delays.
He has no idea the intensity in which I’ve been paying attention. He has no idea I’ve been blown away by his progress and growth. He has no idea that there was a time when he did things slower and differently than most.