Lullaby

We were playing the whole day, in and out of our solitary moments. She was building/making stuff. I was reading. We hugged while watching TV. We ate noodles. I made lemonade. She gathered her dolls' hair into clips.

In between cuddles, I panicked about the future. Swallowed unbidden tears. School. Annulment. Deadlines. Money. Future,

(I read an article with a list of things that I should accomplish by age 40. I am so screwed.)

My sweet-smelling girl (she had two raspberry yogurts, she smells like a summer day in a farmer's market back home in Grand Rapids) is asleep now. I played the song that I used to play over and over again while she was still inside me. I played it many, many times when she was a baby to soothe her into sleep. The last time we listened to the song to usher in sleep was back in Dalipuga. When I played it this evening, she hugged me closer and said, "This is my lullaby." She pressed her face against my breast (for a moment I thought force of habit would make her suckle again) and fell asleep in five minutes.

And in this moment, before I succumb to the familiar tugs of this lullaby (for I, too, am answerable to its call), may I say how suddenly, quietly, and utterly ...

...sad I am?

I nuzzle my daughter's temples and wait for sleep.