“Good morning, Sweetheart!”
It’s 5:30, maybe 6 if I’m lucky.
“Uh-oh!”
His beloved Ned hits the floor. He’s been standing and dangling that poor little bear over the crib rail, waiting for the necessary audience for his daily performance. (I know this thanks to the video monitor, that double-edged sword of a device that sometimes entertains as well as reassures parents.)
“Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh!”
That’s the soundtrack as he works his blanket over the rail with both chubby hands because it’s too big to fling over in one go.
“Uh-oh!”
The elephant-head blankey lands on top of the small mountain of fluffy baby things. Ned is typically at the bottom unless Baboo performed with particular flair and flung him to one side.
“Ney-ney!”
“Yes, I’ll get Ned.”
I retrieve the toy and bend to pick the baby up, moving in ways that protect my mid-40s back. We sit down with Ned. I reach for the bottle I set down as I watched the show. He holds his bear and drinks while I rock us and nuzzle his noggin.
Another day has begun.
Mama-Come-Lately 
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