Our family room blinds were open to the backyard, and the tree behind our house is covered in yellow leaves. Its trunk was a stark black streak. The sun was shining through the leaves, lighting some of them into yellow neon.
Eli was sleeping in my arms, his belly full of milk. We'd assumed our usual pose, with my nose right up against his hairline at the top of his forehead. One of his hands was curled between his mouth and my neck at the collar of my purple shirt, and the other was tucked against his belly. My world was full of warmth and the delicious smell of baby. His, I imagine, was similarly filled: Mama breath and heartbeat and warmth and scent.
I know that these days of Eli's babyhood are my last opportunity to enjoy the visceral pleasure of holding and cuddling an infant. I'm feeling an at-times desperate wish to stop the clock and slow this all down. Thank goodness for these ordinary October afternoons.
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