I’ve nursed you over a thousand times. Truly. We have sat here like this together more than one thousand times. Some of them have been painful, some joyous, some mundane, some funny. Sometimes you threw up on me. Sometimes I cried on you. But today you put your little hand on my arm.
You probably have done it before, maybe on accident. But today was different. Today you were falling asleep and your arm was searching in the air, reaching around for something. It circled and circled and brushed past my arm and stopped, and then came back to my arm and settled there. Your skin was looking for my skin. You were looking for me.
I wish I could take a picture of this feeling. I want a photograph of how it feels with your tiny, soft, surprisingly heavy hand resting on my arm. We two girls, together. I want to remember the dimples on your knuckles and how you knead my skin with your little hands. And I want you to know that any time you brush past me and stop, I will be there when you turn to come back. You will always find me.