The days are falling into themselves. Life with Niya has a constancy, a flow and ebb. I am adjusting to its rhythm as I change diapers, coax grins, read books like The Foot Book, The Nose Book, Are You My Mother? and Ten Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed. Niya’s eyes are always bright with curiosity, a brightness I hope will never be dimmed. She is the joy of my mornings though I often feel relieved at nights like these when she is asleep.
Recently, she has become a bit more demanding. (But not the kind that gives headaches, thank God.)
On Friday, she got more shots, ended up with a fever. At first, she seemed fine and we even took a nap when we returned home. But she woke up screaming like I had never heard her scream. Gave her Cetamol (the liquid kind for children) and she eventually settled down but she has been more clingy since. Perhaps too because I was cuddling her so much during her fever. Perhaps because I succumbed to the urgency of her tugging hands and liquid eyes; my nipples became her pacifier.
Today after I put her on the bed for a nap, she started screaming. I went to the bathroom and watched her from afar, noticing how she was starting to quiet down but as soon as she saw me she started screaming again.
I am learning her tricks.
I love how I am the center of her world in a way that only a mother can be. Revel in the moments when we can sing together (yes, she sings — a drawn out kind of coo), take early morning walks. Sometimes I just stare at her face — her perfect mouth, nose and hairline shaped just like her Dad’s. I look in wonder and thank God for the miracle of this baby that is healthy, active and happy.
When I consider the future and its uncertainties, the over-thinking part of me gets desperate to make plans, to fill the unmapped spaces of doubt. But mostly, I feel buoyed up by my hopes and the evidences of God’s love, revealed in all the goodness He has brought into my life.
Best of all, I am looking forward to next month when I will see Niya’s Daddy again. I know a significant change is looming but we are used to change. We are used to this pliable life.