"Did I used to put my head here?" she asked, even though she knew the answer, that this is a dance we do.
"Yes, right here on my shoulder. And then, finally, you would sleep from 5-7 am."
I remember those days, dragging myself to work to pay for diapers and formula and daycare. It was a dark time.
She rests her tween head on my shoulder now. I vow to stay for five counts of one hundred.
I feel her body grow heavy, begin to twitch.
I remember those days when her body was only two feet long, cradled against me. The relief I felt in her sleep, which meant my sleep.
I told her she used to shove her nose into my neck. A few days ago she tried, her head bigger than my neck. I'm no giraffe.
"Not enough room," she said.
My girl is too big to bury her face in my neck. I understand this truth more than she does.
I am glad it still occurs to her to try.
It will be hard to show her I'm only human.