“Mama,” I hear the whisper. My eyes open slightly and lying next to me is that little girl I love. She crawled into bed with me.
“It’s still sleepy time,” I say to her. A tiny hand drapes over my neck as she cuddles in and I fall asleep.
Half an hour later I wake up, alone. I get up in search of her. She’s not in her room. I head downstairs. When I walk into the living room I see her, sitting crossed legged on the couch, beading. She looks up at me, “You up?”
“Yes,” I say and sit. That’s when I notice it. While I slept, she took off her night diaper, put on her underwear *albeit backwards*, and selected a pair of shorts, which she then donned *albeit coming in from one leg hole so that the waist is actually servicing as her left pant leg*, then went downstairs and started her day.
I know it’s small, but somehow those little acts made me realize how she’s growing up.
