This morning, Alice bumped her face on a shelf, alarmingly near her eye. She wailed and then crawled into my lap for a hug, snuggling her head on my shoulder. She rarely stops moving long enough for a cuddle, unless she's very tired and even then, only when I stand with her. I usually stand and hold her for a few quiet minutes before nap time or bedtime, until she launches herself into her crib. I savored this moment when she needed and sought my comfort, and treasured the small blessings and joys of motherhood.
She soon forgot her injury and toddled over to see Marceline playing at the top of her perch. I held Alice up so she could see the kitty, and then something out the window caught her attention. I stood her on the window sill and she leaned against me as she inventoried the houses, cars, trees, and grass. We stood cheek to cheek as she touched the window glass and every piece of hardware with her delicate little hands, pulling at the locks. When a dog walked by, she giggled as it passed our house and then she pressed her cheek to the window and watched it go down the street until it disappeared from view. I kissed her cheek and breathed her warm breath that fogged the window, her long eyelashes brushing mine as I stared at the tiny, reddened swell of skin next to her eye.
It was an ordinary moment in an ordinary morning, but it calmed my heart and was sweet and special nonetheless.