Your velvet head drops against my chest.
Your little limbs have pounded out another day. So keen to join in with the others. To keep up with the pace. To not be left out. Your heart and mind must work in overdrive compared to my firstborn when it was only him.
So much stimulation.
So much going on.
You are never alone.
We are rarely alone.
So that moment when your head leans against my chest is the moment I remember each day. Your whole body gives in, relenting to the wave of sleep that passes over you. I breathe you in deeply and breathe out the madness of my day. I realise that my shoulders and chest are tight – always on alert throughout a day of constant fight or flight.
But this moment with you, little velvet head, is what it is all for. It is why. It is a reminder of the reason. A sacred pause each day to remember and be grateful.
The dark envelopes us in our sleepy embrace. You fit snugly into the curve under my shoulder and I wonder how much longer this will go on.
I will not miss the broken nights sleep. But I will miss our velvet-haired moments. Soft and gentle in a whirlwind of noise and busyness. Our pause. Our moment where the clock stops and all is held and savoured for a fragile few seconds. Our time of oneness.
You are no longer part of my body but for those few seconds we are joined together again. The invisible cord that will always join us is short and we are bound together.
I will never forget ending our days like this.
But as that invisible cord ever stretches between us, oh would you bounce back to that curve at the top of my chest every now and again?
Your velvety head was made to always fit there I think.