Looking in the rearview mirror takes my breath away.
It seems like only yesterday we brought you home and now
you're chattering and observing everything.
I don't want to blink for fear in my next look
you'll be six years old in your baseball uniform
coming triumphantly home from your first game.
I won't want to take a breath for fear my next exhale
will reveal you fourteen years old with earbuds in
sleeping in the backseat on family summer vacation.
I can't bear to hear the ticking of the clock for time passing
means you'll be headed off to college, getting married,
having kids and wearing heartache as we all do.
No, I don't want to know what the future holds.
I just want to hold you in my arms
and bury my face in your sweet babyness
for as long as I can in reality and forever in my heart.