being there

She is nearly two, which means sometimes life is just too much for words.  And when she can't find her words, a tantrum ensues.
Like today, when, for no apparent reason, she threw her little body onto the floor, kicking and flailing and sobbing.  My coaxing and prodding and pleas for her to tell me what was wrong yielded nothing.  So, I scooped her up and laid down, putting her on my chest.
With her head under my chin and her feet nearly reaching my knees, she calmed down and we lied there together, breathing in syncopation.
IN in
OUT out
IN in
OUT out
Her little chest moved up and down against mine, her breath brushing lightly on my arm. Her curls tickled my face; little toes wiggled on my legs.  For a few minutes it was just me and her, in a moment that no calendar or to-do list can create. She was mine. And I, in that place, with nothing else begging my attention, was what could calm her troubles.
It is good to be the mom.

my girl, on the merry-go-round