Bubble bath babe

Rising like a nymph from the foam
she hurled a handful of white bubbles in the air,
her hair in tendrils
clinging around her glowing cherubic face.

“Please play with me,” she pleaded,
piling delicate bubbles on her head.
“Look! All the rainbows in the world are here.
I see purple and red and yellow.
How does that happen?
What’s inside the bubbles?

Now I’ll make a castle.
Or I can be a unicorn
if I put it all in a heap on my head.
Watch me and I’ll make it snow.”

She cupped her hands
scooped up bubbles and blew them in the air,
showering the walls
and laughing as the bubbles popped in her face

The cherub rolled around in the froth
until it covered all of her.
“Now I’m a snowman.

Can I get out now, Grandma?
I’m cold.”

“Beauty is my child’s face.”*

Is there a more perfect sight than the face of a beloved child? Is there a more perfect feeling than stroking the softness of their skin? Is there a more perfect smell than inhaling their sweet scent as you envelope them in a tight embrace? These are some of the intoxicating wonders of motherhood. How I love to dwell on my child’s exquisite features, but no matter how long or how intently I gaze, the image is always changing. It is the nature of childhood.

Share your thoughts