"Don't cry Grace. No cry!" I begged, looking down into the small baby's bed from my perch on top of the dresser. I kept my voice low as I talked to her, knowing I would be in trouble if dad saw me, there was a rule against climbing. But it was the only place I could get a good view of the tiny child dressed in pink, so fragile and innocent, though certainly not quiet.
"Don't cry. It's the rule, no crying," I begged. I was too young to know what she wanted, but knew something was making my new sister cry. So, I did the only thing a little child could do; I broke another of Dad's rules.
"Don't touch the baby," he had snapped at me. But she was crying and crying was bad. I didn't want her to get in trouble, so I started to climb into the bed next to her, careful not to step or fall on her. It wasn't easy, but I had learnt to climb to reach food on the top shelf, so climbing into the crib was only challenged by the short legs of a small child, and the infant crying louder by the second.
I lay down next to her, having succeeded in finding my way inside the baby bed. I lay down as best I could, cradling the small baby in my arms. She felt heavy, yet light at the same time. I did my best to soothe her, talking softly to her.
"It's ok Grace. Bubba here. I got my baby." For in my eyes, she was my baby. No one loved her the way I did, at least I didn't think so. And I told her so, in the few words my limited vocabulary allowed. And to my surprise, and happiness, she stopped crying and smiled. At that young age, I knew she was smiling just for me, and it was the most precious thing in the world. Nothing mattered more than Grace's smile.
I fell asleep there in the baby bed, cradling my Grace in my small arms.
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