nineteen

dear grace,
we rock in the big grey green chair and while i put you to my shoulder you scratch the back of the seat, feeling the fibers under your fingers. you look up at the quilt gram made for you, and wiggle your nose against my neck. nap time is still you in my arms, when i put you down you wake up, red eyes squinting at me in a curious fashion, where am i, and where are you going? that's what they beg to ask me. it is better to just let you sleep, rosebud mouth open just slightly. your face calm and milky white, two bright red spots on your round cheeks and the pucker under your bottom lip. long dark eyelashes are resting on your cheekbones, sometimes you show your dreams in small whimpers or smiles, in laughter if i'm lucky. i read lots of books while you sleep, or sometimes i sit and watch you. which never gets old. ive become quite talented at reading, eating, and simultaneously rocking you to sleep. i think i've grown six extra arms. today you are wearing soft pale yellow ducky pajammas. the best part is the little ducks on your footies. it helps that there's also a little badge sewn into the left side of the garment over your heart that says i love mommy. but i'm biased. you're awake now, rubbing your eyes and making small grunts and whistles.
i love you honeyhead,
mom