i love how tiny she is...when i pick her up out of her swing, her legs are scrunched up and when i lay her down on the couch she stretches her arms up over her head while her legs extend, giving proof of her 23 inch-long baby body. the smallness of her hands curled up in tender baby fists are swallowed up in the enormity of my weathered hand. oh and those lips, her mouth! faint, eloquent brush strokes perfectly placed above her petite chin.
and she is so delicate. her head needs to be held in my hands as we move around, her body resting in the crook of my arm. and there can be no hurried movements as i undress her and redress her each day. slowly the sleeves of her onesie are stretched over her arms, with her hands sinking back in toward her body as the fabric is pulled. with my hand cradling the back of her head and the other protecting her face while also lifting it over her. all to protect. all to keep her from being scratched or irritated. fragile; tender.
and she is so soft. every time i pick her up i immediately bring her cheek to my lips and brush them with pink-lipped gentle kisses and then i allow myself to enjoy her velvet strawberry blond hair--caressing my lips and my nose through its softness. breathing in her scent. breathing in all of her babyness.