I love holding you.
I whisper into her hair. She is fresh from the bath, smelling of coconut and wrapped in her white towel. She is curled on my lap for warmth, shivering and soaking my clothing through with her wetness. I rock back and forth on the floor and cuddle her tightly.
How long have we been sitting this way?
Just rocking and breathing and warming.
There are no clocks in her room. Nothing to say, “Hurry up! There are things to be done! It’s lunchtime or snack time or time to do this or be there!”
It is just us.
For as long as we want.
And I hear it.
I love it when you hold me.
And we sit.
For what seems like only minutes.
And when we stop cuddling and she has her pwincess dwess on and her hair combed and we are making our way downstairs, I see the clock.
Added up to almost an hour.
A beautiful, wonderful hour of just being together and being sure of each other.
It was far too short.
“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. “Pooh,” he whispered.
“Nothing,” said Piglet, taking Pooh’s paw, “I just wanted to be sure of you.””
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