My little explorer

I'm not much of a poet, but I do like to express myself creatively every once in a while since I'm much poorer at plain ol' writing. So here's a little something I wrote that pretty much decribes my days with Patrick - he comes to bed with me every morning and we roll around for as long as he'll stand it because I hate getting up. So as I'm trying to wake up he creeps around, peeks over the edge, and explores. Then he's crawling and pulling himself up all over the place, and he seems so big now, so I feel sad... but when he gets sad and he snuggles with me I feel how small he is, and I know he'll always be my baby. Anyway, here goes:

As you roll to your side,
eyes wide and unblinking,
mouth stuck in that smile,
you look at me like, "let's start an adventure!"
You crawl 'round the bed,
peering over the edge,
daring five pudgy fingers
out into space, like, "let's see where THIS goes!"
Your small little arms
with your small little fists
grab the first thing o'erhead
and you pull yourself up, like, "check out what I can do!"
Then you tumble and fall
as you lose that small grip
and down sideways you go,
scared and surprised, like, "what just happened to me??"
So you squeeze your eyes shut
and you cry and you cry
'til you feel me pick up
your small, crumpled frame, like, "being small is so tough."
And we cuddle and rock
and you bury your head
way down deep in my neck
and I think, "sometimes I am so glad you fall
just so I can pick you up."