My Armor.
by Ashley Weeks Cart
The staleness of her breath mixed with the powder fresh scent of baby soap lingered in the air, and with it, every cliche.
No one ever prepares you for the dependence you have on your children. The desperate yearning for their comfort in the face of your own insecurity.
The reality is that in order to protect her, I must first protect myself. And she is part of that armor.
The velvety touch of her hair and the tenderness of those baby fingers shield me when confronted by those unworthy of energy or concern.
As always, thank you, my daughter.
One day I hope to be your shield.
