Not mine to keep...

Eliza's finally sleeping in her own bed.

I stared over her for probably a good five minutes, just watching the blankets that covered her up to her chin rise and fall with her breath.

I am so glad she's back, and the thought came to me, "and I'll never let him take her from me again."

But that's not true. I'll continue to let him take her every week for a few days and on several vacations every year as well... and my heart will break every time.

It's gotten easier since last year-- in the way that it gets easier to keep tearing your skin on the soles of your feet from pounding them on the pavement over and over. Then you grow callouses. It starts to take a moment longer before you realize that something sharp just poked you. My heart has that calloused scar tissue around it... it makes it easier... because now it is harder to feel the pain, but harder to feel the joy and happiness as well. But what else can I do?

I'll just keep loving her as much as possible when she is mine to keep-- to bathe, to dress, to hug, kiss and snuggle, laugh and giggle with, tickle and teach-- and I'll just hope that my callouses don't prevent me from giving her all that she needs from me.

Part of me hopes that she'll wake up tonight and come climb into my bed with me like she does sometimes. I ache to feel her arms around me.

She was already asleep when he finally brought her over tonight -12:30am! So all I got to do was whisper to her that it was okay to lie down and sleep while wrestling a pull-up onto her before I tucked her into bed.

... so I'll leave my door cracked open.