A trembling voice drifting through slumber, a tear-filled cry for her mama just moments before the sun rises.
Daddy rescuing her from the confinement of her crib, letting her finish off sleep in our bed.
The way she instinctively tucks herself into the hollow of my body, half-asleep, fully needy.
A seven-year-old forgetting he is too old to sleep with Mom and Dad, so, bleary-eyed, he joins the sleep brigade.
Sweet baby morning breaths mingling as brother and sister curve around one another, sandwiched between the two people who love them the most.
Breakfast in pajamas, lazy and timeless, punctuated by Saturday morning cartoons and karate chops.
A day when our family is whole and unscheduled, any whim and errand more enjoyable together.
For now and today, our children still adjacent to and dependent on us, not yet living separate lives.
A baby girl enjoying the wonder of bubbles, splashing happily with shampoo and squirt toys.
The scent of lavender skin and toothpaste kisses as we usher two weary wee ones to bed.
Slipping into their night-lighted rooms well after sleep has overcome them, staring at the innocence and miracle so evident on their faces, their cheeks soft like velvet, their lashes so long they cast shadows.
For just a moment, I can pretend they are static, timeless, that I will always have these small hands to hold, that their tiny bodies will always fit flush against my own, that they will always, always need me the most.