Days like this. Days when the nights are short and rained over and mornings are gloomy and cold, and dark clouds are pregnant with the promise of more rain. Mornings when I try to wake her up for school and she stirs without a murmur, without complaint. When she silently lets me carry her to the bathroom, eyes closed, reluctant to let sleep slip away, still not complaining. When she lets me brush her teeth, still silent, eyes still closed. When she finally whispers, “Don’t wash my eyes, amma, don’t send away my sleep, it’s very nice to close my eyes and think I’m still sleeping.” It’s on days like this when I never want to let her go, when I want to bundle her up, all slim legs and arms with hints of elbow and knee dimples, all mop of curly hair and dimpled chin and super soft tummy, bundle her up in the warmest, softest blanket and put her right back inside my tummy and keep her there in that cocoon, safe forever. My baby.
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