As I sit on the edge of your bed, my hand gently smoothing away the hair on your forehead, I feel the heavy pressure and angst of being a teenager ebbing away. You’re sleeping now, the fever having finally settled. And, there, just as when you were smaller, I sit, watching you. To me, you are still my little girl. Especially as you sleep.
Your face relaxed. Your brow not furrowed. Your mouth not uttering those words so typical. Your shoulders not hunched as they get ready for another huge sigh. The weight of being a teen gone just for a few hours. And, to me, you are you again.
Your need for me, now you’re poorly, no different to when you were little. But, if I’m honest, there is a difference. Adulthood is forcing its way to you. I’m struggling to hold it off. Adulthood with its pressures, its…
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