*Z and E, our friend's almost-three year old daughter, have been playing well all turkey day. During our walk around the block in between the stuffing course (Was there anything else to eat during that meal? Huh... I must have missed it!) and the pumpkin pie course, E and Zoe are suddenly holding hands. Z looks surprised, pleased, then desperate to hold on. The light is fading and the girls giggle, chasing seeds and stomping leaves with their feet.
*Nana offers her lap to a clingy, post-breakfast Z. I wait for the inevitable refusal ... that never comes. Z pads over to Nana, climbs aboard and spends the next ten minutes checking out the specials we will blissfully be missing out on from Black Friday's newspaper.
*A fussy Z is suddenly discovered to be feverish. I spend a few minutes in the dark, cold night singing and rocking her in the rocking chair my mother rocked me in. The silent, still weight of her against my chest is bittersweet. With her padded butt on my lap, I just barely tilt my head down to kiss her hair. I stay awake by remembering the tiny, floppy baby she once was, in this same chair, at this same hour, a long, long time ago.
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