You were exhausted from a weekend of too many treats and too little sleep. So was I. We stayed home from church, just the two of us. You cried when Papa and the other kiddos walked out the door. You cried so hard that your nose bled. I suggested a warm bath to cleanse the blood and the tears, and you stopped crying. I suggested we put bubbles in the bath, and you smiled and ran to the bathroom.
For an hour you played with rubber ducks and boats and balls and squirt guns. I washed your hair and you even let me scrub behind your ears. I pulled you dripping from the tub and wrapped you in a soft towel, pulling you onto my lap. I cuddled you, and you let me.
It’s not often that you are willing to be held and snuggled. As I looked down at you in my arms, I remembered another time when I had held you close. Only you were much smaller, and your feet kept getting tangled in the wires, and tubes kept me from stroking your cheek. When I held you then, hoping for the best, imagining the worst, I could not have pictured holding you now, so big and healthy and beautiful, your golden hair curling into wet ringlets.
You showed me your fingers, giggling at your wrinkly skin. I showed you your toes, and we both giggled. “I see?” you said, after I had snapped the photos.
Eventually, you were dry. You crawled down from my lap and ran away to find more interesting things to do than to let your mama hold you. But, my Peanut, I do hope you will return again. It doesn’t have to be soon or often, but mamas sure do need the quiet times of holding their babies.