April fell asleep tonight with her head in my lap. Each night it takes less and less time for her to give in to slumber. As I lay there watching the rise and fall of her chest, I felt my heart squeeze. One day, I’m going to be wishing for these intimate moments again.
Time stretches out when it’s just the two of us. I’m not allowed to do anything but play with her. Having recently mastered the stairs — both up and down — this is her new favourite activity. I sit at the landing and wait for her to make her way up to me, jubilant, where she throws her arms around my neck and covers me with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.
She just woke up. She must have sat up too close to the edge of the bed, with her back to it, as after a momentary cry, I heard a thud and another more desperate scream. Oops. Don’t report me; it’s only the second time she’s ever fallen off a bed. I went upstairs and scooped her up in my arms, cuddling her tightly until she calmed down. I then lay with her, hoping she would drift off again easily so I could nip back downstairs. She was on to me though. She seemed unable to get comfortable unless lying on top of or across my chest. When I tried to roll her off, she would grip onto me with her arms, protesting feebly. Sigh.
I can’t help smiling when she does it. As much as I thoroughly enjoy the little time I get to myself, there is simply nothing like feeling her little body, tight with agitation, completely relax when it comes into contact with mine, her breathing deepen, trusting that mama’s here; everything is okay.
I have a glass of scotch and a good book. Cheers.