Thursday, April 15, 2010
Greg was holding her, and I was leaning into his shoulder so my face was only a few inches from her. I could smell that sweet, buttermilk newborn smell, and my hands were on her.
Charlotte's tiny feet hovered near my breast, her toes so impossibly small it was hard to believe they were all there, but they were. All with their complete tiny flecks of toenail, perfect and lovely. I cradled her foot in the palm of my hand held her first toe between my fingers.
This little piggie goes to market...
And so it goes, right to the part where the piggie cried all the way home.
Because I was never going to get to play that game with her, was I.
To this day, I almost cry a little every time I play that game with one of my living babies, because they are there, and she is not.