It’s as if I’m cradling a lumpy sack of potatoes, heavy as a watermelon. My arm, with its withering bicep, starts to ache where her head is nestled into the crook of my elbow. My tight neck muscles sound a familiar, years-long alarm. After a few minutes, my shoulder joins in the painful protest. And yet. Her dark eyes, staring into mine, begin to flutter like the wings of a butterfly. She reaches for me and I gently close my fingers around her tiny hand. She squeezes tightly before resting her warm palm in mine. Her breathing slows, her little