She is curled in my lap. I enjoy her weight as she tucks under my left arm, wraps around my right hip, warm and familiar, as if her body remembers sharing my body. I'm feeding her a bottle before naptime, listening to her quiet, rhythmic breathing as she drinks.
I make a point to notice these details, each of these moments, every day, musing that she is my last little baby - and not so little anymore, at that. But as usual, my mind is spinning. I'm staring off, brow furrowed, thinking about everything at once. Literally, everything.
This baby feels nice. When did Silas fall asleep? Will I have a chance to rest today? What am I cooking for dinner? Did Ross find a babysitter for next week? I forgot to pick up my dry cleaning. The white car needs an oil change. Is it time to do taxes? Did I miss recycling day again? I need to write that thank-you note. And that other thank-you note. And call my grandparents. I'm the worst. How long can I put off grocery shopping? What day is it, anyway? Henry has gymnastics today. I need to return those books I borrowed. Did I send the car payment? I need new jeans. Why is it so warm in January? Is the world ending? No, don't think about the world ending. Think about--
I look down. She's still drinking, her knowing baby eyes staring at my profile. Her brow furrow matches my brow furrow. I force a smile to relax her; everything is fine, she needn't soak in my worries. Unconvinced, she stares at me, unblinking.
This funny girl, where did she come from? I laugh out loud in wonder, truly and honestly. Her eyebrows unknit, her gaze lightens, and I see the hint of a smile in her cheeks. I laugh again and make a silly face.
No comments:
Post a Comment