Thursday, March 3, 2011

She is.

Oh sweet little one, how precious you are to me!
As you sleep ever so soundly,
I can't help but feel like I am looking on perfection.
Its so easy to do in this moment,
When your skin is warm and soft
And you are making those hushed little breathing sounds
And emanating that lovely drowsey baby smell.
Its suddenly so easy to forget about the day just past,
About the snobby nose,
About the lunch thrown on the floor,
About the vocal demands for more or less,
About the food smeared in freshly washed hair,
About the recurring diaper battle,
About the stealing of toys from a sister who gives the most delightfully shrill response.
In this moment it is easy to forget your imperfections, your flaws, your humanity.
I've begun to suspect that these times,
When a mother gazes on her sleeping child,
Are sacred.
It is a time of washing the slate clean before a new day begins.
Of loosening the burdens of the past twenty four hours
And refilling the heart with that maternal love that can never end.
Then I too can fall asleep with a peaceful sigh and a smile
Because although my baby is not perfect,
She is.

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