I never want to forget...
How her weight shifts, becomes denser somehow, as she slides into sleep in my arms.
The way she shakes her head back and forth when she is beginning to wake up, as if she can delay the entry back into reality by throwing this stubborn, grumpy gesture at it.
The way she curls into me when I am holding her; cuddling down into my shoulder and exhaling, her body relaxed, her expression one of pure trust, of utter contentment.
The way the top of her head smells like lavender and baby girl, a perfect bouquet.
How she rubs her hand on my back when I am holding her, as if she is the one providing me with comfort and love. She can't know, of course, that she absolutely is.
The way she has started to blow raspberries on my arm... a mimic of a game we play when I try to make her laugh.
Hearing her laugh out loud in her sleep. Loud, silly, belly laughs. Precious giggles. I know her dreams are sweet if they provide this kind of amusement. Each time I hear her, I say a little prayer that her dreams will always be this sweet.
How she interrupts her morning diatribe with a big grin when I walk in to get her up, her eyes lighting up, her hands waving madly to signal that she is ready to start the day.
How she talks out loud when she is playing by herself. Her speech has a specific rhythm and cadence. I have no doubt she knows what she is saying, even though no one else understands her.
How she sits on my lap calmly when I am working on the computer, watching me type, her little fingers moving in an imitation of my hands.
How I usually find her blankets up over her head when I check on her before I go to bed. I pull them down and tuck them around her, but they are covering her head when I peek in again.
How she rubs her eyes and blinks in quick succession when she is tired.
How she must have her binky in order to sleep, however, it has to be in her hand, not her mouth.
How she sucks her thumb, but moves it to the side to smile or talk.
I never want to forget...
How it feels to love a child this much.
The wonder that consumes me when I recognize the series of miracles that brought her to me.
How full she makes my life.
How bright she makes my world.
How rich she makes my existence.
I never want to forget how it feels to be her mother.
Love you, Bug.
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