It is nearing my bedtime (yes, 9:30, sad!) and I just went in to kiss Whit goodnight. I leaned down to kiss him, intoxicated by his clean sheets and sleeping smell, and smoothed my hand through his hair. I kissed him several times on the cheek, feeling with my lips where his face was since it is so dark in his room. I sat there for a moment, running my hand over his head. He was lying on his side, blue striped pajamas slightly visible against his robot sheets.
I stood up to go, sighing a deep, calm sigh, my heart clenching with the awareness that I was in the presence of time, childhood, dreams, sweetness, and a moment I will never get back. I heard a rustle as Whit rolled over and he whispered something I could not make out.
I crouched down next to him, thinking he was awake. He was not. I kissed his cheek again, and said quietly, “good night, Whitty.”
He spoke again, still in a whisper but slightly more distinct.
“Thank you, Mummy.”