The Touch

In the mornings, my two daughters are like comedy and tragedy, Oscar and Big Bird, Bert and Ernie. My youngest is always smiles no matter when I wake her up, but on a good day, my eldest throws the covers over her head and cries. On bad days, she throws the covers off and yells at me, "I want to sleep, Mommy!" shaking her entire arm like an overwrought librarian.

This morning, when I put Ria (the six-month-old) on her big sister's bed to get her dressed, she reached towards Ely. Blinking sleepily after her obligatory grunt, Ely reached back, their fingers touching just at the tips, reminding me of Michaelangelo's Adam and God painting. They touched for several minutes, and it was the most beautiful thing I have seen in ages.

Tiny Hand

Sometimes the hard times come when you aren't really expecting it. This morning, I was getting my 6-month-old daughter dressed, and a wave of sadness (self-pity?) overwhelmed me. I try very hard not to cry in front of the girls, but this time I couldn't stop. Completely sobbing, kneeling by the couch with her on it, I felt a tiny hand touch my cheek. Opening my eyes, I looked up to the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. Somehow, I know she understood and loved me.

Then she grabbed my nose.