The Warm Spot

A little fussing, a little pacifier noise,

He surrendered to sleep in my arms.

This is the sweet spot of life,

The slow lane where time stands still,

The heart beats with pure joy.

And yet…



The choice emerged: Surrender to this relationship,

Him; safe in my arms, me; safe in his trust

Or attend to the ambitions in my mind

while the baby gets his needed rest.



I pushed myself up from the couch;

From the sweet spot.

I climbed the stairs to the big bed,

And offered the baby up

to that safe bed with no beating heart.



As he felt the shift in his balance,

He began to cry.

I soothed him with my hand on his cheek.

He assured me that I was meeting his need

With a little arm wrapping around mine,

Pressing what he needed to his chest.



Waiting for him to slip back into the breath of sleep,

I longed to stay with him and be all that he needed;

To never disappoint him.

I let go:

Surrendering to my vision of the home that welcomes me,

Just as my arms will welcome this baby when he wakes.



That night, as I crawl into bed, I remember

The spot that had been warmed by this little being.

I remember the ecstasy of the welcome and trust

That crossed between us:

oneness embodied; warm, tender, and, by nature, fleeting.

Barbara Moffett

10/21/2010