I sat there with my son early this morning, before dawn. His little toddler body fitted so perfect next to mine, like part of us was still molded from the form we made together. I love the smell and touch of him, the intimacy we still share. He gives me love so freely in the form of a hundred fluttery kisses. His crown of curls tickles my cheek. My heart stops at the sound of him telling me he loves me. Does that explain it? Such little words to hold so much weight. I look at my daughter sleeping and remember when we would cuddle in the early morning hours, she still would if I wanted. She is sweet and loving and still doesnt resent me yet. Even though she is almost 14 her body still reaches out for mine to comfort her and ground her, to find that place of her own childhood where I was everything, I can see her staring through that precipe, waiting, waiting to become her own woman, a woman with the capacity like mine to mold and shape and love and create these infinite bonds. I am so blessed that I have fashioned this ability from my body, that my arms and touch could be so much. That I can create whole worlds within my own confines. And that the love of my children can be felt so clearly at times, no matter how many fits or little battles we wage. In the end I know this is my world, one that my husband and I can lay claim to and fight for no matter what.

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