Quiet Time

Dear Zeon,
You've been handfull today. You wanted to be in my arms at all times. You are three months old now and at least twenty pounds. It's not as easy to say the least. I love every minute of it though. When it gets tiring, I remind myself that one day you won't want me to carry you anymore. If you are anything like I was, you'll be dressing yourself by four and want to go sleep over people's houses by six. I dread those days, though I know it means I have been blessed with a healthy growing baby, it also means you will be grown up before I know it.
Last night, when we passed by all those teenagers and young boys hanging out at the mall, I wondered what group you would belong too. Would you be a pretty boy, or a skater, or a rocker, rapper, reaggaeton guy? Or would you be an artist or a gothic kid? Only time will tell.
You are so beautiful to me. You are sleeping behind me as we sleep, wrapped in a warm, green, fuzzy blanket that was a baby shower gift. You have a yellow pacifier in your mouth and the most serene expression on your face. You know you're safe. Safe with mommy and daddy and your brother Omar in our little townhouse in Hialeah. I wish the world for you my little son. I love you dearly.

Love,
Mommy