The Laundry Will Wait

Nothing gets done to completeness while Sam is awake; the dishwasher half loaded, a pile of laundry left half folded, an email unsent, an unfinished bowl of oatmeal congealing.  This is what my mornings look like pre-nap time.  During that small one hour window while he sleeps I scurry around tying up loose ends and righting the chaos that follows Sam like a shadow.  So how is it, that so often I find myself unable to rise from the nursing chair when he has blissfully fallen asleep?  I stroke that soft hair and marvel at his perfect skin, that sweet baby smell, the even, trusting breathing of a body tumbled headlong into sleep.  I can't tear myself away, it is too precious, too fleeting.  I feel these moments disappearing like smoke before I can even fully appreciate them.  Yesterday he started walking for real, toddling away, a fearless explorer.  The laundry waits, my stomach reminds me of my unfinished breakfast, yet I cannot let go.  I sit, slowly rocking, holding tightly my sweetly sleeping babe as if to more fully cement this moment in memory.