Her hands are large, and the baby is so small. Her solid arms dwarf his swaddled, egg-like body in their embrace. The floral pattern on the nursery wall is airy and passive. The blossoms float in even separation from each other. Cheery, content, parallel play. The tulips on mother's dress are another matter altogether. Their long, green stems crawl up like vines, gripping the curves of her body, while spiky blossoms eagerly reach out to connect and contain. Mother kisses the top of baby's head, and in this gesture completes a three-quarter enclosure of protective affection around her sleeping bundle. He will never be this cozy again.
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