Reading stories in the rocking chair at bedtime, locks of her fair hair falling into mine; dark and light weaving together.
Glancing back from the driver's seat to glimpse a small body nestled into the car seat, blond head bobbing rhythmically to the music playing on the radio.
The sheer joy of nakedness streaking past me after a bath, face full of mirth, squeaky clean scent wafting off baby soft skin.
Sleepered feet padding down the hallway, eyes squinty against the morning light, hair fuzzy, lovey clutched tightly in small arms, greeting me with a sleepy smile.
A sweet, high-pitched voice, sing-songing nursery rhymes, snippets of songs she has learned, and startlingly accurate imitations of things she has heard and seen. A whole internal monologue made external.
The same high-pitched voice calling me "Mama," always needing, sometimes maddeningly so.
Arms reaching up to be carried. The fit of small legs on either side of my waist, even as her weight becomes almost too much.
Tickles and squeals of delight and out-of-control flailing limbs.
The fit of a her frame against mine in quiet moments, chin tucked over my shoulder, arms around my neck, pouring comfort between us to share.
These are the images that no flood, no fire, no crashed hard drive can take from me. These are the pictures I hope to keep locked in the safe deposit box of my memory forever.
Linking up with the Listmaster, since this is a list of sorts,
though not exactly what Miss Marina Star had in mind.
Also linking up with