There is a little tiny girl who lives in my house. I have to fight to be the first to wake her because of her early bleary grins.
I love her look in the first instant she spies me sneaking in to get her at lunch, she beams and yelps “Daa!” Wrestling isn’t the right way to describe our tumbling, hugging, rolling laugh that pits us against each other while tying us together.
She flatters me in the chaotic hour before her bedtime. Beside herself, nearly inconsolable, she leans her head against my shoulder allowing me to console her. Our end to her day is peaceful, with her mouth pulling her bottle, her plush hand grabbing my mouth and her eyes smiling quietly. I rub the little curve of her back under her bulky yellow blanket and kiss her away trying not to know that it can’t last.
Today she is a little less tiny. Today she is one.