Rosé Posé

Small enough to be captured inside a pocket of sunlight. She’s searching for the perfect apple—or app, as she likes to call them—crouching down, chubby thighs bunching. The ground beneath our little tree is patterned with soft, rosy apples. They crush under my feet, but remain intact in Rosé’s hands. If you look closely, you’ll find many apples half-missing, half-remaining (whichever way you look at it). Tiny teeth marks in crescent moons. My baby is happiest when outside, in shoes or not, an apple in either hand, sunlight roasting the wisps on her head.

Her favorite color seems to be orange. Naturally, as she would eat all the clementines if I let her. We nestle in the hammock together and I point out all the colors of the fabric—blue, purple, green, yellow, red—but we return again and again to orange. Our hammock snuggles never last long, because as soon as Rosé hears the echo of a cow lowing, or the dogs barking in the neighbor’s yard, she’s sitting upright, eager to continue the adventure and discover more names, see more wonders. Like moss and sky and cat and flower. She helps me to see the world closer up. Right down to the smallest berry and pebble. Rosé misses nothing. 

Lately she’s begun patting the rug beside her, signing please until I come sit with her, even if it’s just to have me near and observe her play. My fledging extrovert (born of two introvert parents, ha). Not sure yet who her favorite is: me or her blankie. She takes us both everywhere. Nicholas is doing his best to break even—and you should see her head whip around when he returns from work. She’s begun singing his name throughout the day: da-dee, da-dee, da-dee. He’s winning her heart, even if she doesn’t yet know it.

Everyone says she’s the most expressive baby they’ve ever met. We once penciled in her eyebrows, which made it significantly easier to see just how much they move. No matter how early the morning may be, her grin (with all its spacious pearls) is sweeter than the first glimpse of the sun. Even in the dark, her eyes twinkle. And her sense of humor is such that even the subtlest look from me can burst her into laughter. When she howls like a wolf cub, it’s me who’s throwing my head back laughing. I have a feeling we’ll ever have dinner theatre in our home.

I gaze at my little one, so sweet and sensitive and smart, and I want another. No, not a duplicate of Rosé, but another of our own creations. Captivating blue eyes and flaxen hair and a distinct personality ever unfolding before our eyes. 

All this is to say, if you want to make the world a more beautiful place, have children. 

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