My nine-month-old presses her cheek to my cheek and holds it there as I softly sing the butterfly song.
We are skin to skin, her arms around my neck, her belly full from a pre-nap nurse. Sitting in the rocking chair, we gently rock back and forth, cheek to cheek, and I continue singing.
butterfly, close your eyes, butterfly
fold your wings,
dream sweet dreams,
This is a rare moment, and my breath catches as I feel her soft chub holding still against my face. Her sister watches us from her bed in the dimly-lit room, sucking contentedly on her too-small naptime binky, but this moment is between her sister and her mama.
when you feel
the sun warm
on your face again,
spread your wings, beautiful things,
I breathe a prayer of thanksgiving for these small beautiful beings, every living minute of their lives is a miracle. We are cheek to cheek as I finish my song, she hasn't moved, and I'm still amazed at her purposeful stillness.
She pulls away to see me, her mama, and her eyes are piercing and perceptive and I see wisdom there, and a connection happens, one that makes the hard days of motherhood worth it all, every bit.
She starts to wiggle, ready for bed and her binky and her sleep, out of my arms too soon.
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