I had one of "those" moments with Brynna that I just have to share. It was a sweet kind of moment. A you-may-never-have-this-moment-with-your-daughter-again moments. It happened while I was nursing her during one of our early morning rendezvous a few weeks ago. (She's been sleeping from 11pm-ish until at least 8am every night for at least 5 weeks now; we're very lucky, I know). I always loved that feeding anyway. The house is quiet. Brogan and Daddy are sound asleep. It's just Brynna and Mommy. But on this particular morning, I had a particularly poignant experience.
I was holding her with one arm and with my free hand, as is my usual routine, I was removing fluffy lint from between her delicate little fingers with surgical precision. How this child collects more lint in her tiny hands than my new GE dryer lint trap I will never know. That is, however, very much beside the point. What happened next was the real kicker. As I was going about my motherly duty, she grabbed my finger and held on tight. I was stunned. Not that a baby her age was capable of gripping my finger, it was the situation that stunned me. I had a choice: I could either break the hold she had on me and return to my fastidious, somewhat-OCD task or I could sit there and relish the moment knowing that occasions like these are much too fleeting. Most of you that know me will probably assume that I went with option A. After all, I did inherit my parent's affinity for cleanliness and tidiness. But no, that is not what I chose. You'll be happy to know...I relished.