Naptime

He wakes up crying from his nap so I go in to get him and, when he sees me, he stands up in the crib, holds up his arms and says "Mimi." It's the first time he has said it so clearly. My heart breaks into a million silvery pieces that fly away but one lodges in my throat and chokes me and brings hot tears to my eyes.

I pick him up and his blonde, downy head lays down on my shoulder. It's heavy and warm. He's not quite awake. I go in the family room and sit in the recliner and rock him a little bit to wake him up. But he's not ready to wake up. He tucks in close and nestles his head against my breast and his hand drifts lightly, softly against my other breast and falls open like a soft flower. His eyelids flutter and fall slowly closed again and his breathing is soft, soft against my neck and his foot is warm against my bare leg.

He is warm, warm and he relaxes into sleep and I recline the chair and lay my head back and close my eyes. His body is soft and warm and relaxed against my chest and now he is deeply asleep and his small foot relaxes against my leg. And it is so small.

I am dozing now too and the fan overhead turns, turns and the cool air bathes us both but we are warm, warm and content and sleepy and life is good.

And it's naptime.