Girl Talk

When we got home last night after our days, you wanted the usual.
Milk.
Snack- grapes, two helpings!
Blanket.
Chair.
Arthur on PBS.

I was busy getting dinner ready and unloading the dishwasher. You came in the kitchen with your empty bowl, and slid it on the counter. You showed me your sticky hands and I hoisted you up to wash them off. As I tried to set you back down, you said, "no, up." So I held you.

You swiveled around until you were off my hip and settled against my belly. We were eye-to-eye.
Nose, you said, touching the tip of mine.
"Nose," I said, mimicking your move.
Mouth.
"Mouth."
Teeth.
"Teeth."
Eyes.
"Eyes."
Ear.
"Ear."
Hair.
"Hair."
Pretty, you said, pointing to my necklace, an ancient turquoise stone medallion encased in silver. It belonged to my Grandma Pancake.
"Yes, that's Mama's pretty," I said.
Mama, you said pointing at me.
"Lil' dude."

You grew quiet and your words stopped. You wrapped your tiny arms around my neck and put your head underneath my chin. We swayed back and forth, back and forth. I felt my eyes sting with tears. I could smell the lasagna burning; it didn't matter. I will hold you always. Thank you for asking.