Bella

Her tiny head is leaned on her right shoulder as she half sits, tucked under the covers on the futon. One leg half peeps out of the ruffle of blanket, a cool pink drumstick. I pick her up and lay her down, head propped on a pillow. She breathes deeply and her mouth opens, squeeks something not understood by either of us. Her hands flutter to her face. She settles into the pillow and her expression reminds me of Munsch's "the Scream". Poor little bairne. She looks so much like her mother. Poor little bairne.