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You sleeping in your crib, surrounded by your Henry dog, your Mr Bear, your tiny turtle, and your blanket. You pulled everything close to you, to have company, to cuddle, to comfort.
It's too dark to photograph you when you sleep. Your sweet lips half open. Your rosy cheeks. Your long, long eyelashes like your Daddy has.
Nursing you. In the middle of the night, first thing in the morning, to sleep at night. When you're not squirmy like you are during the day. When you snuggle close to me and hold my hand, or lay your soft palm over my heart.
I'm curled up too, surrounding you with my body. Your downy head resting on my arm like a pillow. Your knees drawn up and your feet tucked in between my thighs to keep them warm.
It's dark then too. And it's intimate. Not everyone could see these photos if I could take them.
How your hair and head smell. How little and round and firm and cozy you feel in my arms. How soft your forehead is under the touch of my lips.
I'll just have to store them away in words and memory. I don't want to think about the day when it's just a memory. So I cling to you now. Tenderly stroking your hair and face, looking deeply at your sleeping face, feeling the warmth of you next to me.
Things that can't be remembered with a camera anyway. I must remember them with my heart.