Shabbat Afternoon Prayer

It is Shabbat afternoon and Nesi has just finished eating.
So, you can guess that I am cuddled up right next to her.
(Shabbat afternoon is a magical place in time
when snuggling is the first order of business,
followed closely by savoring a luxurious sort of laziness.
Kisses are mandatory, and
extra points are awarded for falling into a deep, deep sleep.)

The boys, not wishing to partake in the snuggles this particular Shabbat afternoon,
have taken Abba to try their luck at catching frogs.  Or at least an ant or two.

So it is just us girls,
chatting and snuggling in the sheets
the way only girls seem to be able to do together.
(Auntie Al and I used to lounge in bed on Saturdays, as well.  She would pile in under the covers in my awesome basement bedroom and we'd stay there for hours, 
talking about nonsense and sharing girl-secrets.
If Nesi never has a sister, a small part of my heart will be broken, and it is 90% for this reason.)


Today, Nesi and I are talking about how fat she is.
I am admiring her rubber-band wrists,
she is tucking her chin down,
showing me how she can make it into a double - no, a triple!


I ooh and ahh.  "How wonderful!" I say.
"You are fabulous."
She blows a raspberry in agreement.
I trill my lips back at her
and she coos her approval of this trick, sticking out her tongue.


I remind her what a miracle she is.
She stretches her whole body into a yawn, underscoring my point.
I squeeze her legs between two fingers.
She tucks her knees up, displaying her four-almost-five gorgeous thigh rolls.
I peel off her ruffled sock and kiss the bottom of her foot.
She giggles and curls her long lady-toes around my nose.
I am in raptures.  I could keep this conversation up for hours.




"I will eat you," I tell her.
She raises an eyebrow (really!) and flashes a dimple.  She doesn't believe me.
"I almost ate your brother," I murmur, "but you are particularly delicious."


And since cjane is blogging about eating her sweet baby girl, I figure it is all the rage and I just might do it.

But my appetite is ruined by a sudden protest from Nesi.  Her eyebrows are arched now, angry.  While I've been blogging intent on preserving this moment, she has become hungry again.

As I settle in to feed her, a fervent mother's prayer passes my lips:

Don't ever let me forget
the milky-sweet smell of her infant breath
the divine pillowy softness of her rolled thighs
the downy velvet feel of her brand-new skin
getting to know this little soul, so darling,
mysteriously entrusted to me in this particular form
and how my heart leaps in these stolen moments.