Naptime

A sweaty emulsification drifting towards my nostrils
so close to hers.
The smell of canned peas mixed with a hint of cheerios,
dirt and a slightly increasing scent of a wet diaper emerges,
combined with her own personal scent--
that je ne sais quoi of a baby,
an unmarketable fragrance.

I let her snuggle with me in my piled-high, fluffy covers and comforter.
A bad habit but an indulgence that I repeat time and again
because who knows how long her tiny hot body will
fit so perfectly
between the nape of my neck and fold of my belly.
There is no probable prediction as to when her skin will
lose the silken/sticky feel of a baby who is developing.

So we curl together, hands and arms brushing each other,
with sighs and breaths somewhat in sync, but altogether separate.
The minutes drift by with the fan turning and whirring.
We nap.

But I am awake. So that I can remember.