I am nursing Mae right now. She woke up in the middle of bedtime and Scott is out. Her hunger turned to fury as I took just an extra minute. I fed that fury when I changed her dirty diaper before nursing. She eats constantly it seems. She's so hungry, but solids are forbidden just yet, and so she eats like a newborn again, though she still sleeps at night...mostly.
I sat down to feed her and she attacked her meal, taking big gulps that audibly plopped into her stomach. Her arm still flailed with some kind of furious sign language expressing displeasure at having to wait. I considered her will, how strong it seems, how she insists on success and perfection. I get the feeling she's none-to-pleased with our new PT arrangement that calls for more exercise. I imagine her thinking, "I can do all this, why must I work at it? Snuggling and food are way better!"
She calms and begins to stroke her cheek with her fist. "That's better." I coo. Her middle finger slowly rises up. I giggle. "Stinker. You lovely, sweet sasspot." She sighs and drops her hand. A truce.
It's easy to forget the world in these moments. There is only this time with this perfect person and our synchronized thoughts. There is the overwhelming urge to commit this to memory-the smell, the feel, the warmth of her. There is no special insight, only a desire for this bit of heaven last, and the voice from within whispering, "Enjoy."
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