sometimes, my heart feels so full that i fear it will burst. i am so blessed.
my children. oh, my dear, sweet children.
i went to an evening workout tonight and it was wonderful. a welcome reprieve from my daily tasks and a time to just pound things out, mentally and physically. afterwards, i walked back in to my quiet home and…
well. i heard my daughter’s sweet voice, calling “mama?” i walked to the foot of the stairs and, sure enough, she was perched at the top.
“i was just waiting for you. i couldn’t sleep because i was waiting for you.”
i walked up those stairs and she quickly fell in a puddle in my lap. i held her close, smelled her clean, damp hair. i wrapped my arms around her tiny, strong torso, trying to breathe her in.
“i’m sorry, lil miss. i smell funny, right? i just came back from working out.”
“no, mama. you smell like coins.”
i buried my nose into her hair again, loving the feel of her round cheek on my arm. i looked down and saw her gangly, coltish legs curled in my lap. i squeezed her harder.
i don’t know how much longer i’m going to be able to hold her like this. how much longer do i have to have her curled in my lap, her head resting on my arms, snuggled into me? one year? two? three? when will her legs be too long to be folded into mine and when will she pull away when i pull her close?
“lil miss? can i hold you when you’re five?”
“yes, mama. and when i’m seven, too.”
ok, sweet girl. i will.