It happens every night. Somehow, she shuffles around in her sleep, rolling into a little ball and piling the puffy down cloud on top of her into a mountain of coziness. She’s deep underneath in her warm sweet slumber, and it’s my job to coax her out to greet the morning.
It’s my favorite part of the day. After her brothers have caught the early bus and before the chaos of the day begins, just she and I steal a few precious moments of our own. When I’ve planned it right, I slip in under the cloud and spoon around her, soaking in the radiant heat of her skin and the scent of her shampooed hair. She mumbles a little and we snuggle as long as we can.
Has it really been almost nine years since I held this babe in my arms, nursing her to sleep, cherishing every moment with my last, littlest one?
She’s not a babe anymore. She’s lean and long. I can’t reach the full length of her legs, and when she jumps into my arms, my back aches. I catch my breath when she saunters up the stairs with a slight sway of her hips –not on purpose– just naturally feminine.
There’s trouble ahead; I’m sure of it. The posturing and friendship dramas already flare upon occasion, and I have no doubt there will be more to come. But there’s also great joy in the glimpses of profound thought and compassion that arise more often as she grows.
I cannot stop the flow of time. I don’t really want to.
So today, I savor a snuggle with my baby girl. I never know how many more mornings like this we’ll have.
This is part of Tuesdays Unwrapped at Chatting at the Sky.