Saturday, November 06, 2010


"Who are you?"

My husband whispers into the dark space on his side of the bed. A child has nestled there and he can't tell which one it is. The soft mass of strawberry scented hair in his face is no help. As my girls have explained to strangers, they are twinish. Certainly too difficult to distinguish in a dark bedroom at 5am.

There is no response, only thumb sucking and unfortunately that means it could be either one of them. I reach over and feel long-sleeved, cuffed pajamas. No help, they both went to bed in similar pjs. The child remains silent, though I can hear soft giggles muffled by the thumb.

I slide my fingers down her arm and find a dry, slender hand. Long, smooth, warm fingers instantly curl around my thumb and squeeze like she did as an infant.

"Good morning, Anna."

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