I miss the smell of my babies. I miss the unbearably soft feel of their hair, nestled under my chin as I rocked them to sleep.
I miss the warm, soapy smell of a damp little body fresh out of the bathwater, wrapped in a towel and snuggled in my arms. I miss the smell of sweet breath shared in a good night kiss, clean and pure and unspoiled by life.
I miss the cool salty taste of my baby’s neck on a warm spring day. I miss the feel of an impossibly small and fragile hand pressed against my cheek. I miss the taste of a little palm, sweet and clean on my lips.
I miss the gentle weight of my baby on my hip, balanced in sleep, trusting me to hold her as I made my way through the house. I miss lifting my sleeping child and carrying him to bed, holding him close to my heart as I fold back the cool sheets, tucking him safe under the blankets, smoothing his hair back and dropping one last kiss on his velvet cheek.
I miss them at night when I get ready for bed. I miss them when I wake up and go to start my day. I miss the sound of them in the house, the smell of their skin, the feel of them in the air around me.
I miss my babies.