Monday, December 06, 2004

Mini Post: Breathing

As soon as I get in bed, my daughter's little body seeks out mine; her toes reach for the warmth of my thighs. So I lie in bed at night with her curled into me and I breathe her. She is so warm, so soft, so angelic when she's sleeping. Her little noises are music to me and her breath feels like whisps of heaven. Babies--even almost-four-year-old babies--have breath made out of cotton candy and gingersnaps and lace. I breathe her breath and it's almost tangible. I can almost taste it. It intoxicates me into a drunken sleep. I wish I could bottle her smell.