A simple act
As I’m making dinner, my daughter toddles into the kitchen and comes to me, holding up her little arms.
“Up?” I ask.
“Up!” She says emphatically in her perfect baby girl voice.
I pick her up and snuggle her to me. She pulls back, grinning, and signs “milk” enthusiastically with both hands. I look at the stove - not yet preheated.
“Okay. Let’s go have milk,” I agree.
I settle into a dining room chair and hold her close to me. She nurses, looking up at me. I gaze back at her. She pokes my nose, my eyes, my mouth. I look out the back door to the green trees that lies beyond. Love flows between us.
Such a simple act.
And yet the most powerful act of mothering I know.
