maia lynn

"a little bit of time can mean a lot" she said as she tucked in the little girl's shirt tag giving me time to hold her while she prepared the crib.

as i sat there and rocked maia i realized how quickly you can begin to let time slip by. i was too quickly thinking, "i've gotta get back to work". her head was nestled camly against my chest. her breathing shallow and relaxed. i think i could feel her growing taller and heavier while i held her.

just last week she became uncomfortable as i was changing her. she let out a two syllable yelp, "mama". i freeze where i stood. if you've ever witnessed a car wreck, you know how time suddently expands, the air becomes eerily calm and your entire body is uncomfortably aware of your surroundings. her innoncent exclamation made my entire being go fuzzy. what was that? a clumsy collection of murmurs or a child prodigy's cry for the maternal?

i stood up from the glider to lay her in her crib. wrapping her up, i was instructed not to do it so tightly. wasn't that how i swaddled this newborn yesterday? but now she needs room to kick. when she's awake and alert she stares and smiles less at us now then she stares at her colorful surroundings. everything is beautiful. book spines are fantasmic, and strange. a room explodes into an array of colors. every light is a tiny sun, its surrounding objects a limitless universe. for maia there are galaxies to explore in the living room. she smiles relentlessly, and convictingly, at strange strangers. and holding up her own weight or playing underneath her play "gym" is a difficult, but irresistible challenge.

but now, as we lay her down to sleep, all is quiet. except for a few mumbled sighs and two grunts. "goodnight my daughter, goodnight child." i say. kelli kisses her, "this one is from grandma and pop-pop, this one is from gran and poppy...this one is from me." when she is alert, she hears her grandparents on the phone... and looks for them. but now, she sleeps. her right arm bends up by her head, her lips pressed against her elbow; a learned pose to hold her pacifier in place. and she dreams of universes gliding in and out her crib.