Her legs drape over my lap where they used to tuck in perfectly, and her head slides down to the crook of my arm instead of up on my shoulder where she used to tuck it. She cries tears of exhaustion and we’ve left her room and have resorted to rocking.
The grey plush blanket covers both of us and is pulled up to her chin leaving just her face and thumb in mouth peeking out.
The habit developed after we took her soother away and we see no end in sight.
She reaches up for my hair, a comfort she’s had since infancy, and winds her fingers through my locks, pulling and tugging. It’s uncomfortable and sometimes hurts but I haven’t found the willpower to make her stop.
She changes her position moving her head up under my chin and I lean my head into her hair, breathing in her toddler smell.
One I know perfectly.
She’s an extension of me.
I feel my heart swell.
This little person holds so much of my love and has no idea.
We stay that way, tucked in close, for the better part of an hour, rocking and hushing. Calming and wishing for sleep.
But never taking for granted the moment shared between mother and daughter.
An expansion of my heart.
The swaying of my soul.