In these arms

As she sleeps in my arms, I wonder: who will she become? Who will she fall in love with?  What will her dreams look like? Will she have children? What will she believe?

It occurs to me that in this very moment, I cradle her future. Her entire future.

There are sleep-overs in these arms – chatting under the blankets, flashlights in the dark, playing truth or dare. There are kisses in these arms – sweet and innocent on the playground, swooning and lustful on the porch. There are ideas in these arms – brilliant ones, tangible ones, whimsical ones, and exciting ones. There are voyages in these arms – into the woods and into the cities, across oceans and across countries. There is love in these arms – fleeting at times and devoted at others.

In these arms, there are mornings cooking with her father and there are nights begging her grandma for one story more. There are afternoons spent bickering with her cousins and there are nights fluttering away with dreams while Mara curls up at her feet.  

There are wishes upon stars, melting ice cream cones on a hot day, standing in the sunshine warming her toes in the winter.

I fall asleep thinking these things, wondering these things, proud of these arms and all that they hold.