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.

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