holding.

she speaks to my receptive heart. i watch her, i see her, i am holding her now.
she still cries too much. i need two more arms for hugging, holding, tossing and catching. but during those moments i find free i am all hers now. i have blinders on, blotting out the messy house, the needy toddlers, the beckoning projects. my world is her dimple, her grin, her kissable face.  the backpack, the stroller, the car seat, all dormant. i'd rather stay home and hold her. i'd sacrifice a day of adventuring to lose myself in her tiny hands.


in the past i've wished my babies would stop wanting me so desperately. go to dad, go to grandma, go to anyone and give me some space, child. i've learned, though, that all too quickly they stop lighting up when i walk through the room. they no longer flap their arms as if to fly across a crowd to nestle in my embrace. i'm treasuring her whimpers for my touch.i am finding her. she is a tiny mother. she offers bites of her food to her brothers or to her daddy. she holds my cheeks steady to give me kisses. the generous hostess, she taught herself to wave hello. she sings, "hi!" to the people around her. she sings everything she says, really. her love for music is becoming very apparent, though we've always known it was a part of her. even as a day-old baby, singing or the radio calmed her crying like magic. the other day a wooden xylophone entranced her for a half hour. she played, and i watched, completely under her spell.

she was slipping. i am so thankful for promptings from Father that helped me to catch her.

it's one thing to have, and another to hold.