She Is

She cries in the night and I wake.

I throw my legs over the side of the bed and pad quietly across the floor, through the living room, down the hall.

I open her door and see her face, twisted by the bad dream she is in.

I kneel down by her little bed and place one hand on her chest and the other on her face.

“Shhhhh,” I whisper. “It’s okay.”

She stops whimpering and her face relaxes. I keep my hands on her little body.

“Mommy,” she sighs, her eyes still closed. “Snuggle me.”

I crawl into the tiny bed, draped in a pink blanket with a castle and frog on it.

I lay my head on the pillow labeled PRINCESS, and she turns into my chest and drapes her little arm across mine, her delicate nose pressed against my neck, her little forehead resting on my chin.

I kiss her head and smell the watermelon shampoo.

Even in the dim glow of the room’s nightlight, her hair is golden; bleached by the sun and chlorine of summer days at the pool.

It falls across the pillow and down her back, over her shoulder, against her collarbone, and ends in a loose wave against the ruffle of her nightgown.

Her little face is soft and relaxed, and she looks every bit the PRINCESS that her pillow claims to be.

I brush the tendril of golden hair away from her throat, and kiss her gently on the cheek.

“Sweet dreams my little September baby,” I tell her in a hushed voice.

She seems to nod her head, and I crawl back out of the little space I’ve occupied for these few, brief minutes in the middle of the night.

I open the door and stand in its frame for a few more moments, taking in the sweet serenity of my child while she slumbers.

Here, in the darkest hours of the morning, I stare at this little marvel.

She is pure and sweet. She is joy and wonder. But mostly…most importantly…she is my light.

~ Erica Day McCarthy - 22 July 2019 - 2:00 am - San Antonio, TX ~