Lost in Her

Her warm, squishy body wraps around my stomach.  Her weight warms my lap, so nice on a chilly day.  She smells like strawberries and cotton candy.  Her hair is wild; somewhere between short and long-ish and twisting in each and every direction.  Her toes are damp.  She lays a sometimes sticky little hand on my chest, often bending her wrist into the crook of my neck or beneath my chin.  Her eyes light up and search mine, asking with them, "may I be playful or should we get down to business?"  If it's a playful time, she will tickle my face with her "goya, goya, goya" sound, her eyes smiling as much as her mouth.  If it's all business, she gets right to it and her eyes close in the glow of love and relaxation. Her body lies still and soft.

 A snuggle session at Winterthur Gardens in September.

She knows her job and has done it like a pro since day one.  I nurse her in what are often the only peaceful moments of my day and they are getting fewer and farther between.  However, she is showing no signs yet of giving it up and I'm okay with that.  I'm sometimes asked "you still breastfeed after she turned a year old?"  If she's like her brother, we'll hopefully both be ready to wean at the same time.  He was just over two years old.  It was right around Christmas.  I was ready and so was he.  It just happened naturally.  No tears. No upset.  The World Health Organization recommends breastfeeding for the first two years of life, not only for the nutrition of the child, but also for the improved health of the mother (reduces the risk of ovarian breast cancers.)  I gather not many women follow that recommendation based on comments I get, but I don't let them under my skin.  I know I'm doing what's right for me and my child and every mother must make that choice for her own family.

My days have a wild pace - maintaining the balance and harmony of work, home, family, and social life, but those few moments in my day when she's in my lap... that is all that matters.  And that's a very beautiful thing.