Let Me

“Let me,” his eyes plea.  “I can do it,” comes off him in pulses.  “Please,” his mouth repeats.
There he is, balanced precariously on the fulcrum between reliance and independence, fighting vehemently for the latter.  I try not to meddle with the course, although sometimes I'm tempted to rush what he is becoming and other times I wish the process would take a slower path. 

This week the scale tipped toward needing me.  He’s been a barnacle, clinging to my body and making me simultaneously claustrophobic and wishing for even more snuggles.  Tired and puny, his head droops like a spent daffodil on the stalk of his neck.  “Let me,” I think as I gather him up and press his warm cheek against my own.
JEB