Those huge blue lake eyes peek out from under a wild mop of soft, weightless hair far too long in front. She won't let me cut it, and sometimes I lose the fight to clip that crazy fringe out of her eyes.
This morning's note with an Erzulie vévé. |
She won't give her teeth to the tooth fairy. She keeps them in a little china box.
I love her so much it stings. I love the night times, still my favorite part of the day. When she was a toddler I remember the wash of relieved quiet when she'd fall still after nursing to sleep. It was a long struggle to get her to bed. She still resists, chattering until I get frustrated with her. She says her brain won't stop thinking and let her sleep, and I know this feeling very, very well. Then she'll go limp and her breathing will be loud and slow and calm. An almost snore, or a real snore that's so tiny it's endearing.
I circle around her and rest my hand on her round belly that's from me too- even when I'm quite thin I have a pot belly. She's a world of soft sweetness and warmth and trust. Knowing that she feels unconditionally safe and content snuggled up against me brings me the most profound belonging feeling.
I love this so much, my little soul mate growing up and becoming such an amazing, quirky sweetheart.
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