Eskimos and Butterflies

Kisses, that is. I'm not saying I want another child. We are happy with two. BUT, I am really going to miss Eliana's unintentional butterfly kisses.  After a books and prayers, we turn the lights low, sing songs and snuggle, chest to chest. As if that's not as close as I can get, I bend my head down to hers each and every time so that I can inhale her baby smell and feel her long fluttering eyelashes on my cheek. They speak to me in the silence, saying, "I'm glad you're here Mommy. I'll see you in the morning. I love you. Good night."

There's going to be a time when this little light of mine won't let me this near; close enough to sit "nose to nose and share secrets." (stolen from "Bear of my Heart;" our book) I won't get close enough anymore for sweet little eskimo kisses and laughter shared with our faces inches apart.

Having a child that is your last is oh-so bittersweet. I'm not really the kind of mom that says to cherish every waking moment, because, well, some of those moment are not very cherish-able. I don't always have it all together. I don't always stay in the moment. I always feel like I could be doing more. But, in these little moments, I know I am doing everything right. I do the best I can. Some may say that being a parent brings lots of laughs and joy, but little reward or appreciation. I say, we have to see the big picture; the brief moments when all is well in the world. We have to remember that these little beings know nothing if they don't know our love. That is all I have to give, and these butterfly and eskimo kisses tell me I am appreciated. I am loved.

Ellie, I will always yearn to be close enough to feel those lashes, or tell you secrets nose to nose and look deep into those hypnotizing eyes. I don't care how old you are. You're my little light and I love you.