The floor is littered with addition flash cards that Aria has pulled out of a cupboard. I watch as she takes them out one by one, bending, throwing, and of course tasting them. As one who is not mathematically inclined, I can’t help but think that these cards will never know a better purpose for now than to be slobbered upon by my 11-month-old.
She is so busy exploring the world of “Home.” With the soft thwap of her tiny hands on the brick floor, she ventures out with squeals of delight and experimental sounds, her own beautiful song of “naming” the things she finds.
And later, when Greg and I hold her fresh from a bath, we sing over her a blessing and prayer before bed as she leans into us, her sweet, warm scent captivating the moment.
“I have to kiss you a thousand times before you go to sleep,” I whisper against her cheek between kisses, “because I’ll miss you until the morning.”
Still, I will sneak into her room before I fall into my own bed, happily exhausted from the day, and I will watch her sleep, whisper one more prayer, and know that I am full with love.