the water flowing from the faucet was just a little hotter than warm. she held the soft soft cloth under the spigot until it was drenched, then wrung it with her hands. her toddler was no longer eating, but waving his spoon above his head like a sparkler and shouting 'da! da!'

she brought the cloth to his face, and swabbed the bits of food from his eyebrows, the arch of his nose, the palms of his hands, the back of his neck. his complaint sounded more like cooing. she pressed the cloth to his cheek, and for just a fragment of a moment, he leaned his face into her hand.

he might, someday, grown up and far away, remember, yes, this is how love feels.