Breathing In

I love the smell of my child’s hair in the morning.

I love the feeling of her soft cheek on mine.

I love the way she wraps her tiny hands around my neck and tucks herself up against me.

I breath her in.

Our photographer captured this ephemeral breath last Sunday.  I never thought I would see an image of myself breathing in the spirit of my child and treasuring it.  And yet, here it is, in all its power, in all its vulnerability.

When I am fifty, I will show my child this image and she will marvel at my youth.  And I will marvel at her youth.  And I will say, “You see?  I have always loved you and I always will.  No matter where I am.  No matter where you are.”