so we lay here

and for a moment, we were alone, as it was--though brief--once before. those sacred, quiet moments when little arms and legs are cozy and tucked, when the eyelids fall shut and sweet dreams commence, it's the two of us again, just him and i and time.

click, click, click

the light switch! he starts to giggle, hand clutched over his mouth, i say go see! he creeps down the short, sad excuse of a hall careful not to press feet against creaky floor boards (there are many) and listens.

the questions whirr in my head, seeking a solution to the many reasons our darling daughter could still be awake. this wasn't like her.


help, a little squeal slips through the cracks and makes its way to my ears. he turns the glass knob and finds her standing, reaching up, asking to be changed.

mama, she cries, mama.

thus my heart leaps and sinks all at once in an aching fashion, leading me off the couch and down to the room where the whole world stands--mine that is.

i find him changing a diaper that really doesn't need to be changed, but no matter. i press my forehead to hers, the one dancing in between baby and full-fledged toddler.

mama, she squeaks out yet again, as i graze her cheek wiping away the pearl of a tear rolling from the corner of her eye.

there was no imminent reason for her to still be awake this long after we had put her to bed, routine and all.

she simply wanted her mama.

up, up i scoop her and squeeze her tight, her little body not so little anymore. it's as if she can sense it: a change is coming and soon.

soon it won't be just us: the three musketeers. soon there will be another set of toes and fingers and eyelashes and eyes peering back at us. another teeny fragile body to cuddle up close.

for now in this moment, though, there she is, in my arms atop my growing belly, nuzzling her nose into the creases in my neck. and i don't object.

we crawl into our bed, the three of us and i hold her tight. she asks for a song and i don't object.

i love you, cracks through as i hold back tears.

and we lay there for what seems like hours, cuddled in close, singing quietly to this little girl who shocked the both of us--turned our world upside down--over two years ago.

because she's worth the lack of sleep.

because time slips away, the years are short and moments like these won't last forever.

[the next day after she woke up from a nap. taking advantage of all the snuggles i can get]