Tonight I was face down on the bed “resting my eyes” while Rose had her quiet time before bedtime. Right when I was thinking it was time to drag myself up and put her to bed (or tell Steve too), I hear the padding of little feet.
“Mommy, I’m coming up.”
She crawls up and lays her head down on my out stretched hand.
After a few minutes I sit up and reach out and pull her towards me, tucking her body against mine.
As I cocoon my body around her I marvel that she is still a little girl. So many times lately, when she recites full lyrics to a song or tells me an elaborate story or dances around the room looking a bit like Elaine on Seinfeld, she seems older then her 4.5 years.
But then, as I stroke her soft arm, I admire it’s softly rounded form. For all her slenderness, she has the slightly pudgy wrists of a child. It reminds me of that she is still a little girl, not much past her toddler years for all her “I’m my own person” outlook on life.
So I snuggle her slight form, breathing in her sweet scent, and try to cement every one of these feelings/scents/emotions into my memory.