Puzzle Piece

I watch him closely as his tiny forehead furrows in concentration. He is so focused, so determined as he clutches the puzzle piece with chubby, dimpled hands. He attempts to push it into place among other colourful pieces. It doesn't quite fit. He exhales - the sweetest, daintiest sigh of frustration. My lips twitch. He turns the puzzle piece over in his hands, studying it intently. His one-year-old mind is so nimble, so ready to absorb every detail, process every bit of information. He is so candidly curious and eager to learn. Everything is brand new. With a victorious smile, he pushes the puzzle piece perfectly into place and looks up at me with sparkling brown eyes - his dad's eyes. My heart fills so quickly - so sharply - that my knees feel weak. I've been a mom for a year, and still, I'm not quite prepared for that surge of pride, that burst of love. A love that is so strong it verges on pain. I reach out to stroke my son's golden hair. It's so long now that it's beginning to curl. "Good job, little one. Mommy is so proud of you." He picks up another toy, fascinated by its colour and shape. I want to press pause, to freeze this moment in time. He is so perfect, so innocent, so carefree. He knows nothing of pain, grief, or despair. I want to wrap him in this moment and keep him safe and happy forever. But there's no pause button. There's only time, turning moments into memories. I reach out again, not quite ready to let this moment slip away.