Another doctor's office waiting room and the sixteen-year-old is tired and hungry after waiting an hour there. Her head nestles into the hollow of my neck and shoulder - she is slouching so that works because she is really taller than I am - and I rest my head on hers as we wait. My mom, thinking it weird when I go into exam rooms with the Girl at her request, says I'll have to cut the apron strings eventually, but even at sixteen this daughter tells me that I can come live with her and my future grandchildren when I am old enough to want a retirement I will never be able to afford. I will make her go away to school because she must stretch her wings, but that's not the same as a bunch of differentiation hogwash. And I know that my twenty-three-year-old sister still climbs into bed with my mom whenever there's a space available so there is no need to worry about what my mom says about such things.
In the night, I hear my seven-year-old cry out from her room and I rush in to gather her up and snuggle close. She only wants snuggling after nightmares, whispering an inaudible account of her dream but settling back quickly to sleep in my arms. Her hair still smells like baby, her tiny limbs like a bag of sticks, the march of years so hard to fathom.
No comments:
Post a Comment