As I lay here, in the dark, I can hear the breathing of my daughters. Slow and rhythmic, punctuated by the occassional sigh or inhale. All three of us are sleeping in the same room as we approach moving day and I will secretly admit that I love every moment. Each night is a game of musical beds and I laugh as the girls decide upon which bed to sleep. Most nights one or the other decides to sleep in my twin bed, putting me in the queen with the other and I treasure these moments of sleeping next to their small, warm bodies. Evelyn sleeps very still. All night she never stirs and she stays completly on her side of the bed. Sophie is a wiggly-cuddler. When I crawl into bed, far after she has fallen asleep, she gravitates next to me and contentedly stays there.
Tonight they are together in their bed and I am alone in mine contemplating the time when that will no longer be the case.
July 18
Aaron asked me to marry him.
I said yes.
Of course.
We were walking hand in hand along the shore. It was low tide and the water had left a wide, wet stretch of sand as it receded. We had just finished sausages and fries from the stand in Venice Beach and Aaron had tossed the crumbs to the gulls who swarmed all around him, catching the scraps in mid-air. The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows as he stops, looks into my eyes and asks if I will marry him. I answer "yes".
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