I love my little bed mate. This afternoon we took a nap together, and when she woke up after only half an hour, I curled into her little body, she laid her head up against mine, and she fell back asleep. As I lay there, her breath, warm and sweet smelling of milk, fell slowly and steadily onto my face. It was heaven.
She's already well into 9-month sleepers and firmly in 6 month clothing. She fills the length out more than the rest of it, with sleepers and onesies swimming in the waist, but her toes and torso stretching to the very ends.
She is content as can be just to around me. I sit her in the high chair in the kitchen, reclined to a "V" and padded with a soft plush blanket. She watches as I work, and drifts off to sleep and wakes again without a peep.
She loves music. Loves, loves, loves. If she is crying, a soft song stops the cry. She sits in her little bouncy chair next to me as I play and sing away at the piano or practice the flute. Whenever she even begins a cry, one of the boys run immediately to her and sing "Twinkle, twinkle, little star." Benjamin is always the first to hear and run to her, sometimes even before I've heard her cry. "Mom, Juliette's crying!" he announces as he takes off to wherever she was napping. I often find Colin with his head next to hers, cooing the song softly during those moments when I just can't get to her right away.
She loves the sling. If she's ready for a nap and resisting a little, I pop her in the sling and she's asleep in seconds. Literally, seconds. She's almost never in it awake.
Her little coo is lilting and melodic and soft and precious. It makes me stop everything and just stare in her deep blue eyes and watch her rosebud mouth quiver as she lets out those first sounds.