They Fit

His chubby little body fits so perfectly on mine, his head tucked under my chin, his arms splayed around me. Snuggling. His head pops up and falls back down again, furiously, as he tries to get comfortable on my shoulder. He rubs his face back and forth, back and forth on my shirt. His breathing is fast and then slow and he squeaks in his sleep. I rub my face on his fuzzy brown hair and wonder why my hair can't be that soft, my skin as perfect. We just fit, my Oliver and me.

Elijah tackles me in the living room. We're enjoying being able to rough house again now that I'm no longer pregnant and not recovering from surgery. His body is stiff and large and I pick him up and roll with him on the floor. I cover him in kisses and he giggles and tries to get away. And then, he throws his body on mine, his arms dangling at his sides, and I exaggeratedly fall to the ground. "You got me," I say and we roll and laugh as his legs extend long and straight. We just fit, my Elijah and me.

Our boys. Our worries for them, holding them, parenting them - it's all been so different.  And, yet, it's been so much the same. We love them both so, so much. They fit in our arms and our family so perfectly.

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