Emma has been sick all day. She does this sometimes; there's no fever, no real signs of illness, but she's lethargic and cries a lot. Typically, by the next day, she's fine. Meanwhile, she's spent most of the day sleeping and crying.
So today I had her on my bed and I was holding her while she slept on me. It was the same position in which she'd sleep when she was an infant, in those beautiful early days when I had nothing more important to do than to hold her on my stomach while she napped. Chest to chest, we laid there, just me and my little girl. I knew in that moment, as I've known for some time now, that those opportunities to just hold her as she sleeps are numbered, that each time I hold her I'm getting closer to the day when she won't want me to hold her any longer. And when those moments come, I cry.
I imagined, when I was younger, that I would have my kids while still in my 20s, and that I would definitely have more than one. Obviously, that didn't happen. I'm 40 and am a single mother with no prospects in sight. I'm not having any more little ones. I'm okay with this, too. I wish Emma had a sibling, but I don't wish for another child to support and worry over. This is hard enough with just one. But, on days like today when I get to hold Emma and feel her precious weight on my chest, I wish that I could have those early days back, when I could spend a day just holding her and kissing her little feet. I'm saddened that those days are over and that I'll never know them again. And I'm saddened that, each day, she needs me a bit less.
She's sleeping right now and that's a good thing. I'm sure that, by tomorrow, she'll feel much better, maybe even well enough to go to school. And I'll go to work and think about my sweet girl and the most recent time I got to snuggle with her, and that will hold me over.
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