Those Little Hands

I heard her whimper in the monitor. At first I assumed it was Harper, Kinley rarely wakes at night. So I perk up and listen. The next sound reveals which of my three needs me. I don't know if everyone does this, but I always guess what the need will be as I walk down the hallway toward their room. When I get there, she asks for some water. Such a stereotypical child's request, and yet my kids never wake up thirsty. She asks for a cup with no lid, I happily oblige. I get a small glass, perfect size for my littlest girl. I hand it to her and sit close, and I watch as she begins to drink. Those little hands look so small wrapped around the glass. Her skinny, short fingers and teeny tiny nails half-polished. She's really thirsty, and she breaks for a breath, never leaving the glass, breathing loudly into it and then drinking again. I stare at her and smile. My daughter. This small, vulnerable little girl that I've been blessed with. In that moment I prayed that I would somehow remember her this small. It was a simple request, so easy for me to fulfill, yet she is incapable of doing it herself. She needs me. And even though my job as mommy is tiring and exhausting, hard and never-ending, sometimes it's nice to be reminded of just how good it is to be needed.