Rosey fell asleep on my lap today.
She's been relentlessly shaking off all things babyish, so I was surprised to look down and see her thumb plugged in, her blankie scrunched up near her face, and hear those long, slow breaths that seem like peace themselves.
It felt familiar and new at the same time. I remembered how new and tiny she was in my arms, how I used to nestle my cheek in her hair and she'd stir and kick in her sleep, and with one of her little bird feet in my hand I'd try to imagine her walking or running or dancing around. How the slight heft of her always felt so right, such a part of me, snuggled and safe.
Today was no exception - I stroked her pretty hair and ran a finger down her arm and her soft clever hand, and reconciled my memories of my baby sleeping with this not-so-grown-up girl, still seeking comfort and trusting me to keep her safe.
Her legs are longer now, but her weight as she sleeps? Still seems a part of me.
I watched CNN on and off today.
I hope the grieving parents can reach back and find peace in a time when they rocked their children, and all was right with the world.