And we danced

I called it several months ago. I was writing about holding one of the girls and rocking her to sleep and I mentioned how I had to enjoy this moment because such opportunities were dwindling. And I was right. In the months that followed they became mobile and assertive and a little independent. I can manage a quick hug or a flyby kiss every once in a while, but they're big girls now, they've got things to destroy and animals to harass. No time for sentimentality dad. No time for sitting and rocking in your arms. It's joyous to watch them, but I miss that. I'm thrilled I'll get it again with the new baby, but love is not a replicable emotion. That baby will bring it's own love, but I'll still miss such moments with my girls. So last night I got the girls to bed and the house was quiet - a rare moment in the day when there's not even the sound of the dogs toenails on the hardwood floors. I sat down to get some work done (finals in less than a month. ... yikes!). I got about an hour, maybe a little more in before I heard Genevieve start crying. It was a groggy cry so I figured it would die off in a couple moments. But it didn't. It got more frustrated and pressing. So I saved my work and headed in to check it out. In her sleep she'd managed to get one of her feet stuck between the slats on her crib. She was now stuck but too out of it to figure out how to get her foot displaced. So I freed her and then I picked her up to settle her down a bit. When I die, if I've done everything right in my life, this is what heaven will feel like. Little hands clasped around your neck. A soft warm check against yours. A rush of breath in your ear. Security. Love. Dependence. I turned their music back on to help calm her down and we danced. Just a slow rock back and forth in the middle of the room. A moonlit dance floor in a quiet world. If and when she gets married some day, this is the dance we'll have again. This is the image I'll have of her. This is the moment I'll flash too. I dare say, there is nothing in life more perfect than a father's chance to dance with his daughter. I'd trade a thousand lifetimes for this one moment. If that were the cost, I'd gladly pay. It would be a pleasure.