Her head

When Aggie was a baby I could calm her easily.  


I would stroke her head, and she would melt into me, as if I had given her the signal that she was home.


They say you lose 90% of your heat through your head in cold weather.  I think Aggie receives 90% of her love that way.

And the fit dissolved into peace...

I see this picture and I remember how upset she was a moment before it was taken.  Then, her little baby fit vanished as if the warm water on her head just washed it right away.



She is seven years old, but this little trick still works.  She still melts when I stroke her hair. (She also screams when I brush it, but that is another story.)

Of course when she was a baby, I did not know there was anything different about Aggie’s head.  


I had no idea what a unique head it was that I held in my hand.

Now I look at that picture and I wonder, could I have known, somehow? Was there a sign that I missed? Was the tumor there all along, hiding, waiting until her bright and happy fourth year to stretch its evil tendrils?

But I didn't know.

I kissed those chubby cheeks and held her tiny hand and petted her soft head.
I fetched her pacifier and put frilly socks on her feet and watched her receive awkward big-sister love .

I just enjoyed her.

She was special to me.

I'm glad I didn't know everything that was special about her head.

God, thank you for those days of innocent mommy joy.

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Stay tuned for "more of the story" every Monday!  I'll be adding thoughts and snapshots that are part of the Mother-Daughter Love Story, but not in the book!