Long
Go.
"Can I comb your hair, momma? It's so nice and long."
Even though it's 7:15 and bedtime has passed, I give in to her pleading because I know these moments we spend together are precious.
We sit on the cool bathroom floor, and she takes on the persona of "Miss E the hairdresser." We talk as if we're old friends, she asks questions I'm sure no three year old has ever uttered before. It's where we connect and bare our souls, here on the hard tile, when the silence of the house penetrates the walls and it feels like no one else exists in the world but just the two of us.
"What do you think heaven is like, momma?"
The words stop me dead in my tracks because this moment is surreal (and I'm sure I'll say the wrong thing), as she combs my long strands systematically and somehow at the same time erratically. Because my talking falters, she stops her movement for just a breath. She swings my head to meet her gaze, and grabs my face with both of her hands, then sloppily kisses me on my nose.
"I love you, momma."
I can't get the words out, but I want to tell her: this. This is heaven, sweet girl.
Stop.
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| Photographed by Rebecca Adams |
Hope y'all have a great weekend!
xoxo, k.
