Unexpected.

Thump. Thump. Thump. One of my men was about to cross the threshold of my late night office santuary. I gambled that it was Matthew--and I was correct. He looked dazed, whimpered a little and climbed up on my lap at the computer. Within seconds he had returned to the Land of Nod nestled against my chest.

I struggled to hold on to the strapping young man who was once a petite 6 ouncer. As I perused the type before me, I held him close and that's when it hit me. A website that I was visiting was belting out some country western tune about how fast life goes and holding on to childhood and the moment. (That's what the songs are about when they're not lamenting the loss of a trailer or a lover) I held him tighter and started to cry but I didn't want to rouse him in the flood.

Moments like this are quite rare these days. Usually my two little babies are vying for my attention and Matthew has forfeited the former affection in which he liked to bask. I wanted to hold him forever. I wanted to stunt his growth. I wanted to let him know that he would always be my baby no matter how old he got and where he went or what he did.

Then with all the energy I had left at the end of a long day, I hoisted his limp body into my arms and headed up the stairs to return him to his nocturnal nest. I laid him in bed. Then I left with my legs aching and heart pounding like I had just finished an aerobics class. He's one solid mass but he's still my baby.