Sometimes motherhood make me insanely sentimental. Or sentimentally insane.

The girls both fell asleep in my arms tonight. When I realized Lyra was asleep, I held her a little while longer, then eased my body away from hers, kissing her cheeks and stroking her hair before I left her room, little on my mind except for getting dishes done and getting Adriana off to bed. A couple of hours later, though, as I felt Adriana's breathing change, I thought about the point in the future when she won't let me hold her while she falls asleep anymore. It's already pretty rare, although many nights I'm beside her reading my book. The are nights now that she kicks me out of her room so she can fall asleep on her own, or she falls asleep reading a book and I go in later to turn of the light. Lyra still falls asleep in my arms pretty much every night, but that will stop too. And those thoughts didn't bother me much, because even though it's something I'll miss, I also know that it will happen (is already happening) gradually, and that we'll be ready for it. But tonight it occurred to me, very suddenly, that with each of them it will happen for the last time but I won't know it's the last time until later. I won't be able to record it in my memory and hold onto it as it's happening. And maybe that's best. And maybe I'll still remember it clearly, the way I can still recall the last time Adriana nursed. Or maybe I won't. Maybe I'll just remember all the nights in a giant blur as this time when they are so small gets further and further into the past. But I wish I could somehow preserve the feeling of my little girl's warm body against mine, the way we fit together. the way she wiggles for a while before settling in, the weight of her body seeming to increase as she relaxes, and finally the change in her breathing that means she is asleep and I can slip away whenever I want, but I never want to immediately, never want to just dash away from the peace and sweetness of my sleeping girl.