Your tiny fingers curl around mine
like morning glory vines seeking sunlight,
each breath a whisper of new life
painting the air with possibility.

In the amber glow of dawn
you stretch and yawn,
a small symphony of contentment
that makes the world pause
in reverence.

Your eyes, wide as prairie skies,
hold mysteries I’m only beginning
to understand –
the way you study my face
as if memorizing love itself.

Three months of sleepless nights
have become three months of grace,
each feeding, each gentle rock
in the old wooden chair
a prayer answered
in the language of touch.

You are the softest revolution,
changing everything
with the simple act
of being here,
breathing,
trusting.