It is nap time and I am lying on the bed with my three-year-old granddaughter who pushes her rosebud lips up against my face, squishing my cheeks with her chubby baby hands. She snuggles so close and with such intensity, it is as if she wants to merge her little body with mine.
I adjust her position so that she is now cradled in my arm, her head resting on my shoulder. Taking slow, deep breaths, I close my eyes. I can feel her intense blue eyes staring at me, and then she too starts to breathe deeply and I peek to see she has succumbed to sleep.
We will lie like this for two hours, her baby hair matting as she sweats in her slumber, and I marvelling at this little soul who has brought so much love into my life.
Earlier, she and her two-year-old cousin collected fallen leaves in the backyard and I pressed them so we could make Thanksgiving collages. The world, through their eyes, is wondrous and new, and all the leaves are beautiful no matter how torn or blemished. The enthusiasm is contagious.
After nap, we will all sit down to a traditional meal and the babies will chatter non-stop, and giggle at their own nonsensical language.
Then both granddaughters will scramble to sit on Grandma’s lap whilst I read a book and we discuss its content as if its the most important thing in the world. (Really, I will do anything to prolong the scent of their baby hair and the feel of their sloppy kisses.)
Hours after they leave, I will lie in the dark and replay each delectable moment over and over in my head, and Grandpa and I will talk about all the little developments and beam with pride.
There is no mistaking the fullness in my heart after time spent with my “babies”: life is love!