We’re waking up in the morning, a tangled mess of legs and sheets and frantic cries for milk. She suckles and we lay in silence listening to the birds and she twirls her hair around her finger and smiles coyly at me. I think it then. I think it while she nestles against me, her skin against my skin.
Then we’re running to get to the nursery on time (even though we are just one, and I really mean one, block away). She helps us open the door, babbles about the dogs between mouthfuls of cookies or crackers. She tells us her dreams and she looks to us for reassurance. I think it then. I think it while she expands her knowledge of the world, sharpens her vocabulary with words we use every day.
We’re watching videos on the computer, she is sitting with me signing out loud and I think it then. We’re running in the garden chasing Mara and I think it then. We’re reading in bed, snuggled under a blanket, and she pretends to read and I think it then.
We’re playing with daddy, Kathy and Nico, "COLLE, COLLE (run, run)" before she runs and I think it then. We’re painting in her room, crayons and markers and papers at the ready, and she draws and draws and I think it then.
We’re readying for the night. She is tired. She marches to the bedroom and demands to be bathed. Then she climbs into bed and she asks for her stuffed monkey and she asks for a song and she asks for a video. I think it then. I think it while she sings with me, hums the tune and says a few words, while her heart beats beside mine.
I whisper it then. I whisper it with my lips against her forehead, with my soul bursting, as her giggles turn to quiet breaths, as her eyelids droop, as sleep claims her.
I whisper: you will always be my baby.
No comments:
Post a Comment