She scoots up to me, butt first, wanting to be held. I put my arms around her and she gives me a little sideways smile and wiggles. I pull her up onto my lap and feel her fuzzy head against my cheek. She smells like Goldfish crackers and a little bit like pee.
It’s almost four o’clock in the afternoon and we’re both still wearing pajamas. The snow has been gathering, swirling, drifting, relentlessly, all day. I’m really, really tired. A run of my tongue along my teeth tells me that I may not have remembered to brush them today, but I am wearing a bra, so at least there’s that. She woke up early from her nap and I wasn’t happy to hear the cries of “Mommy” after only an hour in her crib. The kids have been so intense lately and I just wanted to be left alone for a while.
But she didn’t.
She would rather be with me than be alone. She would rather sit in my lap to eat her Goldfish than sit at the table like a big girl. She would rather dance with me, read with me, sing with me, be with me than by herself.
So I wrap myself around her and we just breathe together for a few minutes. She leans her head into my chest to be as close to me as she can. She crunches her snack and drops crumbs into my shirt. I don’t care. Not right now. Right now is perfect. Right now, I love her more than I have ever loved her. I didn’t realize that was possible, but it’s happening, so I just let it be.
This is a small moment in an ordinary day. Very soon, the twins will be up or the phone will ring or I’ll have to make dinner or let the dogs out or switch over the laundry. And she won’t be content to snuggle quietly in my lap for very much longer either. She’ll suddenly decide that the toy truck in the corner has some urgent business in the next room, or that the basket full of toy food must be dumped with gleeful force onto the floor.
But this moment is good. I breathe her in. I kiss her cheek and squeeze her little tummy and admire her slippered feet. We’re together for this moment and nothing else matters.
The Beatles said, “there will be an answer, let it be.” I didn’t even know I was asking a question, but here she is in my lap, with her softness and sweetness and a big, silly grin, and she has the answer to everything. Let it be.