Each morning as the sun rises, I feel her little body start to squirm beside me. Soft, chubby hands pat against my back, followed by stubborn, kicking feet. I stay still for a few minutes, hoping she’ll settle to sleep again. If she doesn’t, I reach over and place the palm of my hand against her belly to try to will her back to dreamland with my touch.
Sometimes it works.
More often than not, she starts to coo and giggle, ready to meet the morning with joyful predictability. She smiles wide when we first lock eyes, knowing she has won and the day has officially begun. I quickly pull her to me and skitter out of the room to protect those still sleeping. Our bedroom has become a family space and I’m enjoying the closeness while it lasts.
The six o’clock hour belongs to just the two of us. I practice yoga on the floor while she puts every ounce of will into learning how to crawl. Occasionally she’ll get her legs just right and inchworm a couple inches forward. Mostly she just wiggles and yells, upset it isn’t coming more easily, determined to learn to move like her big sister. No sooner do I roll her onto her back for a break than she flips right back over to try again.
Finally she grows tired and I put her in a carrier to help her fall back to sleep for a cat nap. I write while she slumbers and then somehow, she and her sister both wake up at precisely the same moment, even in separate rooms. They see each other and her whole body moves in excitement. Our morning together is done and my early bird is ready to play with my lazy daisy.
Five months and already so animated, so wiggly, so smiley, and so determined. Everyone wants to hold her at parties, enchanted by her happy demeanor and thick, dark curls. A happy baby and those curls, everyone remarks, again and again. Five months and I’m starting to get glimpses of the person my early bird will become, and I couldn’t adore her more.