morning snapshot.

In the mornings that Drew is home and doesn’t have to dash off to the hospital in the dark, he will often be the one to go to Asher, to give me a few minutes longer under the covers, sleeping or not sleeping, listening to them, and then he brings Asher to our room.  Asher reaches out and collapses against my chest and Drew lays back down and we snuggle against each other with this beautiful lingering infant intensity for a few minutes until the world calls to Asher and he’s off, ready to stick his hands in cups and fit pens and tops together and pat the dog and do all of the other 85 things that he’s able to do in under 10 minutes.  I know that there will be a day in the not too terribly distant future that the prospect of snuggling with me in bed will kind of horrify Asher, but it is my hope that we can stave that off until there’s at least a teen attached to his age, because the weight of that child against my chest, the feeling of his oh-so-alive body, the body that was cultivated in the soothing darkness of my body, the body that holds every expanding inch of my heart in it, and the little body that right now needs to lay against us before he can greet the day, that body makes me feel whole.