sunkissed

June 20, 2012

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As the seasons have faded from spring to summer I've noticed fresh color spreading over his small round arms that has never there before. A visual history of holes dug and bikes ridden is starting to show itself on his skin. It whispers to me when his back is turned, "I play outside all day. I run and have fun. The sun touches me, and I am happy."

I'm infatuated with this discovery, my boy and his tan arms. Nothing else has ever so clearly articulated the length of his existence here on earth. He's been here long enough now that he and the sun have become accustomed to each other's touch, day after day. The transition from unspoiled baby-soft porcelain to utilitarian outer casing has started; despite the gallons of sunscreen I've slathered the history of our days is being written all over our bodies. It's a little visual signal that travels up to my brain and says, "Holy crap, you grew that and now it has normal-people skin. It's a real human now, just like the rest of us."

He still curls up in the crook of my arm with his head on my shoulder the way he always has. It feels exactly the same, even though he is exponentially larger, which makes no sense to my thinking-brain so I don't think about it. I like to press my cheek to his hair and whisper, "Sun-baby, Sun-baby..." but he's not content and is quick to correct me,"Sun-KITTY, Mama. I'm the Sun-Kitty." He only holds my hand when he wants something, but he presses me close and kisses my face.

Fine.

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