It is bedtime. And your limbs are heavy.
"Carry me Mummy."
I lift you and you curl your arms around my neck, gentle fingers not quite intertwined. You rest your hot cheek against my shoulder. Your breath against my neck.
Your hair is tufted, rearranged while sweaty then left to dry. It smells of grass and dust and I'm glad you didn't wash it.
You place your legs around my waist but you can't hang on by yourself. Too tired.
I cradle your bottom with both of my hands to support you and remember when the midwife lifted you onto me - your bottom in the palm of my hand, your wet little cheek against my chest, your smell of new life.
I wonder where the time went. I wonder if this is the last time I'll get to do this.