I have it so good. Kristin goes to work around 6:45 pm and Baylie and I get to hang out for about an hour. The best part is sitting on the couch with a worn out Baylie snuggled peacefully against my chest. I usually put something on the television and she stares at it, occasionally looking up at me, which melts my heart every time.
Sometimes I'll place my index finger in her palm to see if she'll latch on. Once in a while, not as often as when she was littler, she'll grab on and just hold on as if for security to know I am still with her.
After a while of this she'll start to fuss a little to let me know she is ready for her bottle. I'll sit her up against the couch and make her some formula. She watches me go into the kitchen, and I wonder if she knows exactly what I've gotten up for. When I come back I shake the bottle for her to see. Her eyes widen. Then I scoop her up and lay her sideways in my arms to feed her. She loves it. I love it.
I had always heard that there are things that only a parent can experience, but I never understood how wonderful these things are. It is miraculous and beautiful to watch your little daughter fall slowly asleep in your arms. It's an automatic prayer of gratitude.
When she is finally out for the count I lay her in the crib. She immediately rolls to her side with her legs and arms tucked in for warmth. I lay her super soft pink princess blanket over her gently--I remember loving this moment as a child--then I put the thicker homemade blanket on top and walk out, closing the door ever so quietly.
The past few nights I have experienced a beautiful moment. I come back into the living room where her toys are scattered all over. I was there only moments ago playing together with my daughter, I think to myself. Then I kneel and gather them up and put them away. It's that moment in my evening that strikes me hardest. I have the best kid ever.
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