At 7:00am I Hear the Padding

At 7:00am I hear the padding of miniature feet on wood floors to my right.

It is the youngest, not yet past the ache of sleep. He sees me working on the couch in the living room, stumbles towards me, and quietly throws himself into my lap. My throat tightly chokes back the joy of it. I smell his hair, still sweet from the womb - then a thin urine odor - offset by diaper chemicals.

He is perhaps the only clear reason for my otherwise insignificant life.