My littlest little person

Mark says he always know when I’ve walked into a room if he’s holding Anya, even if he doesn't at first see or hear me. Her little body will go from relaxed and observant to jumpy and reaching. She’ll lean her whole body towards me, bouncing happily and grinning like a little mad woman. It’s not that she is unhappy in his arms; she’d just rather be in mine. “You’re her world, honey. And that’s how it should be” he says as he leans over, kissing me lightly and smiling at our baby girl; our littlest little person.

She is becoming so bright, so bubbly, so alive! When startled, she’ll look for my face and as long as I smile at her, her face will go from alarmed to a full body grin in a moment. Even her eyes smile at me. There isn’t much I can do but smile back, giving her one of those silly open mouthed grins that she’s so fond of, lifting her face to mine so we can bump foreheads, a slight giggle escaping from her soft face.

What I really want to know, however, is why my littlest little person wants to share her beautiful smile with me at five a.m.? Why is five a.m. the time to giggle and wiggle and love on her mama? Why must she shun my repeated attempts to get her quietly nursing, choosing instead to pop up and say, “ah ha!” and touch my face not so tenderly? Why little person? Why must you make Mama even more blurry than she already is? And if you’re going to do this, wake up Daddy too, because if Mama’s not happy why should Daddy get to be? You see what this does to me? You see what kind of person I become when forced to be bright and happy at five a.m.? A well rested mama wouldn’t wish evilness upon her mate for the sin of enjoying his rest.

Children are supposed to make you a better person. And I can unequivocally say that my children have forced me to become a much better person than I could ever have imagined I could be. But a very tired good person, I am. So very sleepy. And not smart enough to get off the computer and GO. TO. BED.