Before I Forget To Remember

You were so little then.

A sound sleeper and early riser, your small cries woke me in the wee hours before dawn. I yawned, stretched and, resigned to my fate, rose to gather you in my arms.

Your room seemed cavernous; 12-foot ceilings decorated with exposed pipes at odds with the softly flowered crib bedding purchased months before you were born, a bright spot in my time of mourning your grandfather and what could have—what should have—been.

You lay on your back, huge eyes glassy with hunger and tears. The tears had only just come. Before, your weeping was waterless. When the raindrops started to decorate your face, there was nothing I wouldn’t do to stop them. Still, today, even when your cries are manufactured and meaningless, my heart clenches in a painful rhythm: fix-it-fix-it-fix-it.

That spring morning you were just five months old. Old enough to smile and grace us with a giggle, still too small to sit on your own or scoot forward to retrieve a toy just out of your grasp.

I don’t remember, my darling, what you wore. I’m certain it was pink, and soft. I’m certain it had small pockets for your feet, and that it made your milky skin glow in the gloom. I’m certain that I picked you up and pressed your satin cheek to my own, hot against cool.

We padded upstairs to the living room in our strange, upside-down home. Being above ground level gave our space the feeling of a tree house. Green leaves, as new as you were, rustled in the early morning breeze, streetlights peeking through here and there.

The city was coming alive with garbage trucks and commuters, windows in the apartment complex across the street golden and silhouetted. I held you up to see the view, whispering softly: It’s morning-time, baby girl. See the green trees? See the people?

The bottle cooled in my fist and we sat. You fed, I dozed in the flickering blue light of an old movie. I watched as the actors moved their mouths, sound muted in hopes that you’d return to your slumber. You sighed, sated.

The dawn’s light,  pink and orange, played on your face, caught in your lashes, kissed your rosebud mouth. I turned you in my arms, bringing you close to me. Breathing in, I kissed you then, square on the lips, rubbing my nose on yours.

I pulled back to look at you; you leaned into me, turning your face to my own like a flower to the sun. I kissed you again, and you smiled. Enchanted, I kissed and kissed and kissed you, imprinting your heart with my love. Your lids heavy now, you closed your then-blue eyes and slipped away, into a land populated with fairies and laughter.

I held you tighly, heart aching and heavy with adoration. In that moment, my darling girl, I knew you were mine. And you knew that I am yours, then, now and forever.