The Wee Small Hours

It’s 2am. I bend down and the scent of Ivory Snow wafts up, reminding me that even though it’s dark and quiet I’d still not rather be sleeping.

I catch the shadow of a patch of dark, fluffy hair and stroke it ever so gently. I’m here, I say, as I lift the owner gently and kiss the top of the head where the hair is thinnest.

I place the bundle of Ivory Snow and fluffy hair on top of a pillow, underscoring just how small the bundle is, and gently start to feed the tiny mouth that I’ll never let know hunger.

A twinge of a scar – fresh and still sore – and the bundle of Ivory Snow and fluffy hair and tiny mouth drinks like the last and next meal are weeks apart. Sapphire eyes flutter, relaxing and finally closing in sleep.

We’ll repeat this in a few hours, so I gently lift the bundle of Ivory Snow and fluffy hair and tiny mouth and sapphire eyes to a soft bed a mere foot from my own. I kiss the top of the owner’s head, and a peaceful, toothless, sleepy smile appears on the tiny mouth.

Mama loves you.

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