We followed the squirrel up the tree. I waved. Then Malik waved. And just below, a small face was glued to the bark. Even the lamp was watching.

I used to pop bubble wrap without a second thought.

Now I want to hoard it.

For him.

For every fall, every feeling we can’t catch.

So he can land, and not break.

He didn’t wake for nearly three hours.
I held him the whole time.
But this photo holds us.

I noticed the butterfly. She noticed us noticing. And he watched it all unfold from my arms.

366 days. An extra day of light, laughter, becoming. An extra day with you.

He checks the blinds. The mirror. The light. But first, he checks us. And for a moment, he believes we meant it when we said, Good night. See you in the morning.

I was holding my whole world when I noticed something smaller than a crumb. It didn’t need to be big to matter.

I’m learning how to hold things differently. Toys. Toddler. Baggage. Moments. Myself.

He picked up the tangerine with just his fingers. Not his whole hand. Not by accident. His pincher grasp is getting better. So is mine.

I don’t have to be producing to be growing.
Being present changed how I see things.
Slowing down helped.
My son helped more.

He used to cry when we put him down.
Now he cries when we pick him up.
From craving comfort
to seeking it on his own.

The photos are proof I was present. But the ache for more moments, that’s proof I loved it.

He doesn’t need staging. He doesn’t need a pitch. He finds the drawer, the light, the world, and it’s enough.

He’s not even one. Not the intended audience. But they got him. Already.

A tiny glint on the far left, his first tooth. A moment we waited for, quietly and curiously. It's here now. Just enough to prove it was always coming.

At first he flinched.
Then he watched.
Then he touched it again.
He’s learning how to look.
And I’m learning what that really means.

Bright green. Comes in threes. Looks harmless.
But it’s not.
Sometimes the most dangerous things
don’t look dangerous at all.

A t-rex. a triceratops. a smiley sun.
I didn’t expect balloons.
but they floated in anyway, like proof.

He held it for nearly thirty minutes.

A jacaranda fallen, passed from hand to hand.

Now the petals are under us,

and somehow,

it still feels like catching.

He looked at everything like it was teaching him something.
So I brought my camera
to remember what he saw
before he knew how to ask.