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when he’s grown
i will miss his sticky fingers
and ticklish toes
when he’s grown
i will miss the way he looks at me
as if i put the stars in the sky
when he’s grown
i will miss that sweet smell
he has when he first wakes up
when he’s grown
he’ll no longer let out that
honey-coated “momma”
when he’s grown
he’ll no longer grasp my first two fingers
in his sweaty little palm
when he’s grown
i will miss all of these things
and grow sad at their disappearance
but when he’s grown
i’ll love him even more…
because of who he made me
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