I'm holding my baby girl in my arms, and the house is blissfully quiet. This is one of the rare afternoons when the chores are done, the older kids are content to do their own thing, and the toddler has finally fallen asleep for her nap. There's a stack of about fifteen books I could be reading, right next to me, but at this exact moment, all I want to do is rest my cheek on my baby's forehead, and listen to her breathe. I close my eyes, and hear the gentle, rhythmic wooshing of air through her tiny body as she breathes in, and out, and in, and back out again. We feel so intimately one, snuggled together in this chair, and I am certain that my heart beats for no other reason than because we love each other so. She, like each of her siblings, is my entire world in this moment. My tiny, warm little  wonder. I marvel at the incredible gift I've been given, to behold this sweet human's life building before my very eyes.

Aaaand she's awake again.


It was good while it lasted.

That's the thing, though. These moments don't usually last very long. They're so precious because they're fleeting, and eventually, you see that this beautiful thing you held close to your heart was only yours to hold for such a very small moment in time.

I hope I can hold on to the way this feels. I hope that someday, when I'm old and moving slowly, I remember how lucky I felt to watch her belly rise and fall against mine, while everything else in the world stood still.