She's been resting soundly for going on thirty minutes since nursing to sleep. She giggled and hooted for awhile but finally gave in to slumber, nestling into my side as she does each time we find ourselves in this position. With a grumbling stomach and a full bladder my body is urging me to flee and with enough time having passed I feel it is safe. Yet, when I slowly roll away, peeling our bodies apart as gently as I am able, she rolls toward me, kicking one leg onto my thigh, latching back on and wrapping a tiny hand around the thin green cotton of my shirt, silently begging me to stay. Though I can smell vegetables sauteing on the stovetop, can feel my bladder becoming fuller by the second and have an endless list of to-dos, I stay. We snuggle close, our limbs intertwined and her face more relaxed than I have seen it any other day throughout this challenging week of teething. I try to engrave these moments into my memory, the synching of our breathe, the sharing of our warmth, the way her small round cheek feels resting upon the skin of my breast for I am wise enough to know these moments are finite, the ones I will miss most when they have passed.
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