#waitingbutnotbroken
I saw him today
and his face lit up —
not just a smile,
but recognition,
like something deep in him
knew I was his.
He ran to me
arms wide,
laugh already bubbling,
and when he wrapped himself around my neck
the world loosened its grip.
We went to the café,
shared something small,
crumbs on his fingers,
mischief in his eyes.
He kept leaning into me,
huge forever cuddles,
like he understood
time has edges.
And his personality —
it’s really coming out now.
The cheeky little looks.
The dramatic “hi!” to strangers.
The way he repeats things
just to make me laugh.
That confidence growing
right in front of me.
He’s not just my baby anymore.
He’s becoming himself.
In that moment
the world stopped trying to move us.
Chairs scraped somewhere far away,
coffee machines hissed,
voices blurred into background noise —
but none of it reached me.
Because he did.
The play centre was packed —
colour and chaos everywhere —
but I only heard his giggles.
They rose above everything,
bright and fearless.
Slides, tiny trainers flashing,
him looking back
to make sure I was watching.
I was always watching.
His voice cutting through it all:
“Hi!”
“Muma!”
Like he was proud to say it.
Like he wanted the whole world to know.
Cheeks lifting when he smiled,
eyes shining —
bright enough to quiet
every doubt I carry.
He pressed his forehead to mine,
little nose brushing mine —
soft Eskimo kisses,
slow and certain,
like a promise
only we understood.
He’s taller now.
Leaning out.
Still with that solid warmth
when I lift him —
though today he felt light as air,
like holding a feather
that somehow anchors me.
He rested his head on me
for a second longer than usual.
And I memorised it —
the warmth,
the weight,
the way his fingers curl into my clothes
without thinking.
For a while
there were no accusations,
no ticking clocks,
no watching eyes.
Just us.
I wasn’t being assessed.
I wasn’t waiting.
I wasn’t on the back burner.
I was his mamma.
Fully.
Naturally.
Without question.
And when I breathed him in,
that familiar scent
took me back
to when it was just us —
when the world felt smaller,
safer,
simple.
If I could live inside a moment,
it would be this one —
his laughter suspended in air,
his confidence shining,
his little personality unfolding
right in front of me.
Because in his eyes
I am not broken.
I am not temporary.
I am not a visitor.
In his eyes
I am home.
And even when the hour ends,
even when I have to walk away,
that version of us —
laughing, nose to nose,
frozen in light —
still lives.
It waits.
Like something unfinished.
Like something certain.
Like a door that isn’t closed —
just waiting
to be opened again. 🤍
— Anonymous_Flame
Feb 21
Feb 21, 2026 at 2:06 PM UTC