When our daughters,
ages 5 and almost 8,
rest their weight on their elbows and
lean their chins into their cupped palms,
their cheeks fill up their hands,
spilling out between their fingers.
I can still scoop up these big girls from underneath,
cradling the backs of their knees
and their arm pits in my forearms,
and holding the whole of them to me.
I hold one of them and I sway back and forth,
rotating from the waist, saying to my husband,
“Remember when she was just a tiny baby?”
I do this because it feels good
and because I’m physically able to do it.
I do it because it’s a way
of reminding us that we’re all ok.