The Island of Flannel Sheets

She’s wailing for me again. Always me, her harbor. In one swift motion I scoop her up like treasure, whisking her to my side of the bed—our own private island made of flannel sheets.

She slurps and claws at my chest with her too-long fingernails, leaving scratches on my skin like a cat marking its territory.

As if I wasn't already forever marked.

A piece of sweaty hair starts to curl next to her ear. I twirl my finger around it, glancing at a book on my nightstand just out of reach next to a mug of stale coffee and a half-full glass of water.

I say half-full because I’m holding her and how could anything be half-empty when my greatest prayer has turned to flesh?

She sighs, belly full. I lift her to my face, inhaling, thanking God for the scent of grapefruit and innocence and spoiled milk. Her eyes drift closed. I still can’t reach the book. Just as well.

I spent the last ten minutes writing a chapter of my own. I call this one: The Island of Flannel Sheets.

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Ashlee Gadd

Ashlee Gadd is a wife, mother, writer and photographer from Sacramento, California. When she’s not dancing in the kitchen with her two boys, Ashlee loves curling up with a good book, lounging in the sunshine, and making friends on the Internet. She loves writing about everything from motherhood and marriage to friendship and faith.