This morning my oldest woke up a little off.

He complained of a headache. He wasn’t interested in eating breakfast. He kind of curled up on the rollie chair and looked up at me with discomfort in his eyes.

I offered my lap.

He’s almost eleven. Long legs. On the cusp of independence, but still needing his mom. I assumed he’d say no.

He said yes.

So I rearranged to make space for him— this overgrown baby — legs stretched out past the edge of the chair, head leaning back against my arm. He was entirely too large, and yet, just right.

I felt all of it at once.

Gratitude.
A pinch of sadness.
That awareness that these moments are numbered.

How did my baby get so big?
Didn’t I just bring him home, tiny arms outstretched, barely reaching the crown of his head?
The soft, content smile of a child safe in his mother’s arms.

I don’t know how many mornings like this I have left.
I don’t know when the last “yes” will be.

So I didn’t rush him.

After a few minutes I asked,
“Are you ready to get up? Or do you want to stay a little longer?”

And without hesitation he said,
“Stay just a little bit longer, Mom.”

And we did.

We stayed.

Later that afternoon he bounded off the bus announcing he needed Valentines for a party tomorrow. Of course. The day before. Classic.

And I laughed. Rolled my eyes. Not in a hurry. It will all work out.

This, too, is part of it.
The growing.
The forgetting.
The coming back.
The needing.

He lingers at bedtime sometimes, stalling before going to his own room. Asking questions. Wanting one more minute. Finally asking to be tucked in. I tease him because it sounds childish — and yet it’s tender. A reminder that I am still needed. Still wanted.

Motherhood is this strange in-between — holding someone who is both almost grown and still very small.

And maybe that’s how we are with God.

We stretch out long legs of independence.
We act like we’ve outgrown the lap.

But when we wake up “off”…
when our head aches in ways we can’t explain…
we still want to lean back against Someone steady.

And I wonder if the Father ever asks us,

“Are you ready to get up? Or do you want to stay a little longer?”

And maybe the purest prayer is simply,

“Stay just a little bit longer.”