It's early morning. Too early to wake up. I hear a rustle and a warm weight slides in next to me. After checking on baby, I turn to her and cuddle her close.
After some snuggles, she wants to talk. Or at least say what's on her mind. It's clear she's been thinking about this. How she's a big girl but not so long ago, she was small and wanted it as much as the little baby fast asleep on my side. She asks if it's still there. I say yes of course. I had promised myself that if she ever asked, I would offer. She had shared with the new baby but not for any length of time and I was sure she has forgotten how.
She smiles at me. I ask her if she wants some. She thinks and then giggles and nods. I offer. She half latches and then instead kisses it. Smiles again. And starts talking of something else.
The vestiges of sleep have vanished and I realize this is her last. My last with her. I promise to write this memory down.
The most amazing thing happened today. I woke up early. I don't mean 10 minutes early so I can procrastinate a little longer about getting out of bed. I don't mean 5 minutes early so I can gaze at my daughter's face. I woke up 40 minutes early. 40 minutes. And while not completely refreshed (come on, I have a toddler!), I felt rested enough to not want to nap a little.
What did I do with that extra time? Well, Facebook (obviously!) and I contemplated chores. Contemplated washing my hair since I'm awake early, thought about starting a washing machine load, ruminated on the clothes I should take out to wear (for baby and myself). I did quite a bunch of brainwork. No actual work, of course. All this was accomplished while cuddled under my quilt and next to my daughter.
"Baby, when you're gone". She's underfoot all the time. Being naughty and mischievous and getting in the way. Clambering and running and pawing me. Being adorable yet unreasonable and not kissing me. And so she leave any lap for her evening out-time.
Yes, I know that's a lot of cleavage. No, it is supposed to be that short. Yes, it is a little see-through. No, I don't mind that my bra shows a bit. No, I don't believe in wearing a slip/ chemise/ spaghetti top. Yes, I do want to go out like that. No, I don't care that it's inappropriate. Yes, I know it's transparent. No, I don't care what people will say. You know, it's my body; I get to decide what I want to wear.. or not wear.
After spending 30 plus years in India, do you think I don't already mentally run through how I dress and where I am going in it? I don't need anyone else's opinion on my clothing. Even when I am undecided on what to wear, unless I ask for your opinion, please don't bother telling me. And not to worry, I still won't listen to you. Your dress sense isn't exactly up to my standards either but do you see me going all Trinny and Susannah on you? Kindly extend the same courtesy to me.