A Baby in a Crib

A baby -- my daughter -- is lying sideways in her crib, her tiny toes poking out between the wooden slats.  She starts to cry a bit, trying to free them, still groggy from her nap.  As I gently move her across her mattress, her feet wriggle loose.  Fingers, long and slender for a person so small,  circle around a favorite stuffed dinosaur, stuffing the tail into her mouth for teething purposes.  My baby's blue eyes are like flying saucers, exploring an unfamiliar world.

Now she is awake, an orange pacifier in one hand that she shakes so it makes sound, her other hand free to scratch at the Winnie-the-Pooh pattern that covers her sheets.  The only sounds: the air conditioner, the tap tap tap of the pacifier, the shik shik shik of her scratching fingernails, until she gazes up at me again with those blue eyes, opens her mouth and says, aa-a-aaaa, with gravity and presence, like she is sharing something of great importance.