|Not the first, and not nearly as wide as the first, but close to the first smile of the morning. (P.S. Aren't humidifiers beautiful?)|
Sometimes in the early morning, when it's clear that Henrietta is not interested in sleeping in her crib any longer, I bring her into bed with me in hopes of getting a bit more sleep. She nurses while I try to doze, and eventually she nods off too.
After awhile she wakes up and wants to nurse again, and I help her latch, and this time she's ready to be awake for the day. This is how I know she's ready: she pulls off, and when I look down to see why, and she's smiling at me.
It's my favorite smile of the day. Later smiles are silly and squirmy, but this one is quiet. It's wide and deeply content. She's a strange little creature then, a bald and armless green glowworm in her swaddle. In another context, I'd be sure an alien was sucking the life from me, smiling maliciously. But it melts me when she smiles that way.
I think the official word is that she doesn't yet know there's a difference between the two of us, yes? But she seems to know then. Why hello, she's saying. It's so nice to see you, she's saying. I've missed you terribly.