Sitting in front of my sewing machine, my little project takes shape. The seam finished, I pull the fabric from the machine, and turn towards the hissing iron behind me. I peel the fabric back,and as I pick up the iron, I hear her. The tiniest of whimpers. As I continue to press my work, the whimpers grow to a grizzle, then a cry. I pull the plug from the wall, and go to my daughter. She quiets as I lean down to pick her up from the nest of swaddling she’d created with her kicking. I hold her close, and the tears cease. She nuzzles into my neck, snuffling, mouthing a hint that she thinks a feed wouldn’t be amiss. Pulling her wrap from the cot, I lay her on our bed, and swaddle her tightly. With her little hands tucked away, and only her tiny round face showing, she looks like a little caterpillar. She looks up at me as I rock her in my arms. Her eyes grow heavy, andin her last moments of wakefulness, her nose crinkles, and her face erupts into a cheeky grin. I smile back at her, and happy in the knowledge she made mummy smile, she drifts off to sleep.