Small Hands in the Dark

The power has been out at our house for almost 36 hours. There is a weakness in the cable somewhere, and they couldn't find where, so they finally had to put in temporary electric poles and put in cable above ground while they dig up the whole street to find where the problem was. We finally have power again tonight, but yesterday night it was out.

I don't usually sleep in complete darkness. There's usually a hall light on, so when I wake to nurse Cali (who sleeps in bed with me), it's in the half-light. Last night, though, it was black as pitch. When Cali woke in the night to nurse all I could feel were her hands feeling around at me. In a way it was a whole different experience, nursing her by touch alone, almost deeper and more present. I was completely aware of her little hand searching for my face and feeling my nose and lips in the dark. I could feel her solid, plump little body up against me, and smell the almondy scent of her head. It was almost like being pregnant again in a way, that unseen knowledge of another's presence; loving and mothering by touch alone. Her hand brushing my face reminded me so much of the slight fluttering movements I first felt in my belly that it made my heart ache. This time I have with her, as she is now, is so fleeting. The time I had when she was inside me, already gone. She grows more and more into her own person every day, and I love seeing her grow and develop, but I will always miss that time when it was hard to tell where my body stopped and hers began.