I had the opportunity to hold a four-week-old baby for a few minutes today. It was all too brief. I can still feel the echo of the child in my arms now, and cannot believe the visceral longing that has washed through me.
Alas. Children grow; time passes quickly; and moments, once lived, cannot be recaptured. The memories will resurface periodically and unexpectedly, though, at the sight of crocheted booties and with the feel of a tiny body pressed against a shoulder.
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