Invisible String

57

Mira pushed up to her feet—wobbly but proud—and teetered for a second before her diapered butt hit the ground. She squealed, then clapped for herself.

“She’s trolling us,” I muttered, watching from the kitchen.

“She knows exactly what she’s doing,” Travis agreed with a grin. “This kid’s gonna run the world before she runs across this room.”

Lily plopped down beside Mira and immediately grabbed her hands. “I’ll help you!” she declared proudly, already trying to tug her little sister up. “We can practice, right Mommy?”

“Gentle, Lil,” I warned, coming over. “Remember, she’s not a doll. Slow and soft—no dragging her across the floor.”

Lily puffed out a breath but nodded. “I’m trying to teach her!”

“I know,” I said, smoothing Mira’s hair, “and you’re a great teacher. But even teachers have to be careful.”

Baylor let out a little grunt from my shoulder, clearly unimpressed that no one was feeding him a cracker.

Travis stood up and leaned in to kiss the top of Mira’s head. “I’m calling it now—she walks tomorrow. She’s holding out for the big moment.”

I laughed. “Of course she is. She’s dramatic. Wonder where she gets that from.”

He gave me a look. “Gee, no idea.”

The rest of the day passed in a haze of birthday prep—Lily “helped” with baking (read: dumped sprinkles in everything), Mira chewed on balloon strings until I had to hide them, and Baylor wanted to nurse every hour like he was preparing for a growth spurt.

By the time bedtime rolled around, we were all half-asleep on the couch. Mira had yogurt in her hair, Lily was telling her stuffed animals about the party, and Travis was rocking Baylor in one arm while scrolling through pictures of Mira from the past year.

“She’s really gonna be one,” he whispered, like it just hit him. “Tomorrow.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Yeah. Feels like we blinked.”

“She was just born.”

“She just rolled over. Now she’s trying to walk.”

“She just threw a block at my face yesterday,” he said dryly.

I snorted. “Milestones.”

We eventually got everyone to bed, cleaned up enough to see the counter again, and finally crawled into our room. I glanced at the baby monitor one last time before slipping under the covers. Mira was sprawled in her crib, one leg tucked under her, thumb in her mouth, birthday eve sleep already taking hold.

“She’s gonna wake up one,” I whispered.

Travis pulled me close. “And maybe walk into the rest of her little life.”

“She’s already running our house. Walking’s just gonna make it official.”

He kissed the top of my head. “Here we go.”

And just like that… the last day of her babyhood came to a close.

The next morning started with a squeal.

Not a cry, not a fuss—an actual squeal of pure Mira joy coming through the monitor, followed by the unmistakable thud-thud-thud of her tiny feet kicking against the crib mattress like she was warming up for a dance party.

Travis groaned next to me, still halfway asleep. “She’s hyped. She knows it’s her day.”

I stretched with a yawn. “One year old. You ready?”