For My Daughter

Filed under “Plain Satisfactions”

You cry and I go to you.
You’re standing against the railing of your crib, your eyes wide, wet, and pleading.
“Mama,” you cry with arms reaching.
I pick you up and hold you to me.
“You don’t want to nap? Mama’s got you. Mama loves you.”
We sit in the rocking chair. “I love you,” one more time.
I bring you to my breast, and you are calm.
You nurse and gaze up in arguably the most tender and intimate bond between mother and child.
We search in each other’s eyes, and for this moment nothing else exists.
For a brief moment I am guilty of thinking, “just fall asleep. I’ve got things to do.”
“Finish up baby girl,” I whisper.
You shield your eyes with your hand in an effort to deflect my words.
Then you look once more, searching again.
I realize that in these moments I am your everything.
Intrinsic chemical love elevated by the daily satisfactions of life with you.
We sit and we rock, and slowly your eyes close.
I could lay you down, but I chose to cherish this moment.
I study your face, downturned lashes underneath lidded eyes,
the color and shape of your lips slightly parted and breathing,
the subtle sweet scent of milk, and the flush in your cheeks slowly fading into sleep.
With your fingers still entwined in a tendril of my hair, I take in every detail of you.
The shape of your hand, the particular fold of your ear,
and the texture of your hair as I sweep it to the side with my finger.
You fill my heart.
I love you deeply and can’t imagine my life without you.



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