The light catches your curls and the childish curve of your chin and nose – so perfect – like porcelain, but soft, alive, vibrant.
You are happy on my lap, greedily drinking in the delights of the view into the garden.
Sometimes, I am so tired, I feel I might break.
Sometimes, all I know are cries that make my body ache, my mind muddled.
Sometimes, words unsaid – unscreamed – burn my throat and lungs.
Stop. Sleep. Be quiet. Please.
But there are also sun-drenched mornings when your throaty giggles are a balm to all the world’s ills.
There are moments when I look into the luminous hazel pools of your eyes, so like mine, and I see fierce intelligence, unbridled curiosity, and such tenderness.
And then exhaustion seems like a badge of honour to wear proudly, a treasure to cherish and keep.
But please, little one, please…. just sleep tonight, ok?
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