The boy I'd been nannying had already fallen asleep next to me in the big bed; the little girl was still awake - toes wiggling underneath the covers relentlessly. We'd just finished reading scriptures together, and her feet told me she couldn't wait to pull out our next nightly-ritual item: "Matilda". I propped myself up with a pillow between me and the headboard, and she nudged her way into the crook of my arm - with her floppy and faded "Bunny" following suit. Her small hands pulled my own to her nose, curiously examining them through their scent. "Vanilla," I told her. The little face peered up at mine as she took another breath. "Smells like ice cream," she said. For having only 7 years behind them, those big, soft, blue eyes held a world of wisdom. There was something about her that spoke years beyond her age.
We found where we'd left off the night before, and her little hands rested on my stomach - "Bunny" still beside her - as I held the book open for her to see. She was quiet, but quick - sweet, but sincere. And she always had to read along silently as I read to them aloud each night.
Halfway through the chapter, her breathing became heavy - and I knew she was drifting into sleep. I gently ran my fingers through her tufty, towheaded hair, her body nestled close to mine. I didn't say a word but just listened to the little breaths that warmed my arm - to the little girl who tugged at my heartstrings, to the little girl I had a hard time saying no to and whom I'd grown to love dearly.
And in my mind I told her, If only you knew, little angel. You have my whole heart and more.
awwww. you'll be such a good mom. can't wait to have you for a sister-in-law. and, of course, for that book dedication.
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