toddler love language

"Eye", she says, poking mine with her confident, tiny finger.  Sleep, so needed, hasn't come these twenty minutes.

"Bow", she adds, stroking my eye brow, and then her own.

"Yes!  Very good.  Where are my eyelashes?"

"Der", she tells me, poking my eye again as she finds my lashes.

Giggling now, her nose meets my own. Eskimo kiss.

Taken in by her charm, I plant kisses on her tiny nose, on her criminally-soft cheeks, her Dove-soaped neck.

More giggles.

"I love you, Beth."

"Iyo u", she counters slowly, concentrating.  Then a smile.

A smacking noise escapes her, and leaning in she meets my lips hard.

"Thank you, Beth", I whisper.

Remembering the time, and the others waiting for their stories, I put my arm under Beth's head, pulling her into the breast once again.

Since her eighth month, all nursings have been in the queen bed we share.  She's too distracted to nurse in the common areas.

Daddy agrees with all the benefits of co-sleeping, but he doesn't like to worry about suffocating our babies with his covers.  And truth be told, he's a perfect grouch when woken in the night, even by a feverish child.  A second-shift, over-tired worker these five years, he's resigned himself to the arrangement.  He can't wait for our babies to grow into potty-taught preschoolers; I dread the day my last one does.  I love preschoolers, yes.  But never to mother a baby again?  That hurts fierce like.  Husband knows.  He is glad for my baby passion, for his children's sake.

For my part, while I miss him there, I know we'll share a bed for the rest of our days.  But my nursing babies?  A tiny fraction of my life is spent with them.  Too tiny.  Savor it I must.  Babies capture me, hold me hostage with their charms, whether they're mine or not.  It's always been that way.  No sacrifice to live in the moment with them.

Older when I became a mom, I know something of the passage of time.  The clock's slow ticking deceives.  Aged mothers savor.

She nurses a few minutes, stops.  Gets to standing position, jumps next to the wall, giggling.

"Wa" she says, touching the wall--looking at me for approval.

"Yes.  That's the wall.  It's time to go sleepy, Beth", I say, getting her back into position.

She wriggles away.  Fusses.  Tosses.  I hold her down gently, kissing her and singing softly.

Mad, she attempts to bite my arm.  Then thinks twice.  Stops.  Cries and wrestles.

I pull her into the breast once more.

She succumbs.  Nursing slowly.

Several minutes pass.  Eyes close briefly, then open.  She fights sleep.

Relaxation, brought on by hormones released in her body and mine, quiets us both.  I fight the closing of my own eyes.

Steady nursing gives way to intermittent flutters.  Eyes stay closed now.

"I love you, Beth", I whisper.

She sighs, hearing me.  Body relaxing further.

Seven o'clock light filling the room, I take in her beauty.  Eyelashes long, resting on milky skin.  Soft hair, light brown, frames her.  Natural curls lining the back.

She's perfect.  I'm awed.  Filled with gratitude.

I pray.  For her God love, her safety, her purity, her fertility, her husband, her in-laws, for a servant's heart in her.

Disengaging the breast, I slowly stole away, leaving the bed.

I stand by the door, briefly, to check for stirring.

Her breathing is steady, slow.  Sleep is her friend, for now.

I exit.

Fulfilled.