I found a picture on the kitchen table tonight. It was a drawing you had done of a balloon that filled up the whole page. I paused and looked at it as I remembered what had happened earlier.

I had a business call to make while your Daddy ran out to grab some pizza for us for dinner. I took you out of your high chair and asked if you could play in the living room with toys while I chatted on the phone quickly. 30 seconds into the call, you ran into the room saying you had to pee and you wanted me to come with you (even though you know how to go on your own, you still wanted company). So I went with you, and jokingly apologized to my client on the phone about my toddler possibly making noise during our call, and how “that’s real life”. After you went pee, I helped you with your underwear while explaining the details of a photography session over the phone as my hair was pulled and I was poked in the eye by your pointy fingers at the end of your unbalanced hands. I went back downstairs to the kitchen table where my planner was and tried to engage with my client again. 15 seconds after, you came running in with this picture of a balloon, yelling “What’s this, Mommy? It’s a balloon!” thrusting the drawing into my hand. I then held my finger up to my lips and pointed towards the living room, asking you to go back so I could finish my call.

I didn’t even get a chance to tell you how beautiful your picture is. And I’m sorry for that.

I don’t know how much you were affected by my actions earlier, but I know how much I was affected later on as I was getting ready for bed and saw your beautiful balloon.

What you didn’t see tonight, baby, was how I ran upstairs when I heard you coughing hard. I brought your water, sat you up, and convinced you to have a sip. I put my own pillow under yours to prop up your stuffy head. I filled the humidifier with water and meticulously set it up in the corner of your room so you wouldn’t touch it in the morning, just to give you what little relief I could. I checked on you again before going to bed, touched your hair, rubbed your back, and told you I love you.

I may not always take a second to tell you in the moment, but I’m always thinking about you. Everything I do is for you. Sweet dreams, darling boy. Mama loves you.