Forget being roused out of sleep by chirping birds and the golden touch of sunlight spilling into the room, nothing beat the sounds of her, his little Robin, giggling in his ear. The fog of sleep thinned out and everything came to focus: the weight pressing on his head, the little finger digging in his ear, the little toes wiggling by his mouth. In a flash, JC grasped her foot and made to nibble at her toes. With an exhilarated shriek, Robin removed her finger from his ear and replaced it with her mouth.

“Daddy up!” she demanded, slapping her palms against his back.

“I’m up, Birdie.” Dropping her foot, JC rubbed his eye and let out a yawn. Robin lifted and dropped with the force of his rousing. “You made sure of that. But what are you doing up?”

“Play!” She slapped his back again. He grunted. “Play now!”

“You want to play at…”—his eyes roamed over the cluttered nightstand, from the stack of books he still needed to read to the White Claw can to the parenting book to the book about toddlers to the glowing alarm clock—“…five-thirty in the morning?”

“Play now!”

“Sorry, sweetie, we gotta eat first.” Rolling over, he caught her before she flopped backwards onto the large bed. He tickled at her sides, earning a large, scrunch-nosed, tiny-toothed grin. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? You don’t want milk?”

She shook her head, her dark curls swung and bounced with each turn. “No milk!”

“Or eggs?”

“No…no eggs.”

“No cheerios?”

“No!”

“How about cookies?”

She stilled. “Um…” Her little finger went to her mouth and her eyebrows collided. “Daddy cookies?”

“You want cookies?”

She nodded. “Me want cookies.”

“Fine, we can have cookies.”

“Yay!”

“After breakfast!”

Before she could protest, he scooped her up and rolled out of bed. She settled in the crook of his arm, her little legs wiggling in the air as he headed to the kitchen. He rubbed at his sleep-crusted eyes and allowed a strong yawn to push through his body. He was used to getting little sleep but lack of sleep due to a packed schedule and lack of sleep due to his child were two different things. He preferred the latter over the other.

Her smiles were the most rewarding.

Light spilled into the kitchen when he tapped the switch with his elbow. Yes, Robin could easily walk into the kitchen now (or run, as she loved to do in such a large space), but he preferred holding her. Preferred cuddling her. Preferred feeling her heart beating against his chest and hearing her little sighs as she took on the new day. He was reluctant to put her down when he could have her snuggling against him or sitting in his lap. People have said he’d end up spoiling her. But wasn’t that the point? To give their kids better lives? To give their kids better opportunities? To give their kids better?

“Milk, Daddy!” Robin ordered, face stern. She scampered to her chair when he finally set her down.

Chuckling, JC made a beeline for the fridge. He removed the jug and set it on the counter, pausing to watch as she carefully lifted herself up into the chair, using the frame as rungs on a ladder. Once sitting on the edge, she brushed her hair off her face and started tapping her hands against the table. Her tiny tongue poked out her mouth and her eyes narrowed as she focused on the sounds her palms made. Then she curled her hands into fists and started pounding on the table, marveling at that sound too. That look started to pop out more frequently, when she was drawing or playing with her stacking toys or her little grocery store set. If he watched her long enough, he could see the little gears in her head turning, trying to figure things out, how to make things fit, where to put them in order.

Pride and pain collided, a burning ache ebbing and flowing in his chest like thundering waves crashing on a shore. It would’ve bowled him over if he weren’t so used to it now, used to steeling himself, pressing his weight against the floor to hold back the tide.

It hit him first when she had him shooting out of bed with her wailing. Her face red, scrunched up, hands reaching for her mouth as drool cascaded down her chin. A quick call to his mother—bless her for being so patient being woken up in the middle of the night—had him propped up against his pillows, clutching his little bird to his chest as she gnawed on a leftover breadstick. She was growing her first tooth.

It came again when she started walking. Though walking wasn’t really the right word, not with how fast and how far she hauled ass. One day she scooted and crawled along the floor like a little spider, the next, her soft green eyes watched him approaching from the kitchen and she lifted herself up, and she ran until she collided with his legs, grinning up at him with her uneven smile.

And he nearly died one morning while he fed her—she’d weaned off her bottle only a few weeks prior—looked deep into his soul, pointed at him—well, grabbed at his nose—and said “Dada”. She’d been uttering the word before and, while hearing her first word lit him up like a candle, he all but exploded into a thousand pieces when she said it this time. Before, anyone and anything was “Dada”, even the mannequins at the mall he took her around to get some air and extra stimulation. (She was getting fussy and having trouble sleeping for a stretch.) But that time, the way she looked at him, the recognition glowing in her eyes, he didn’t know it was possible to be so filled with love.

And now here Robin was, putting herself into the highchair herself, entertaining herself, climbing out of her crib by herself. When did his little girl stop being his little girl?

“Let me help next time, honey,” he said, passing over her favorite sippy cup.

“No, I do it, Daddy,” she said, face turning down to a stubborn frown.

“You don’t want my help?”

“No, I do it! Me a big girl!”

Pushing a soft sight out his nose, JC placed his palm atop of her head, gently rubbing his thumb against her curls. She squirmed beneath the weight of his hand, and he slid it down to his cheek, this time rubbing this thumb against the soft curve of her skin. “You are, aren’t you?”

With a proud smile, she nodded and shoved the tip of her sippy cup into her mouth. A few beads of milk slipped around her mouth and ran down her chin. With both hands gripping the cup, she set it down and let out a loud, exaggerated sigh, much like an older man after a good cup of coffee.

A loud, belly laugh burst out his chest and he tickled her under the chin, making her squirm. “Silly Birdie, where’d you learn that?”

“From you, Daddy!”

At least he had that.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, promised her eggs and cookies for breakfast of which he got a hearty cheer for, and made a beeline for the phone. (Lance could make fun of him all he wanted; it was practical to still have a landline.) Tucking the ringing phone between his shoulder and ear, he removed a carton of eggs from the fridge along with a stick of butter and a pack of English muffins. Or “cookies” if he could spin it right.

“Hey Mom. We’re doing great, we’re just about to have breakfast. Hey, listen, what was the name of that place you were talking about? …Yeah, it’s finally time. I know, I know I should’ve done it earlier…”

***

“And three…two…one…blastoff!”

Robin rocketed through the air with an exhilarated shriek, landing safely amongst her new pink and fluffy pillows. Batting her hair out her face, she got back up and steadied herself on her mattress before charging forward into JC’s waiting arms. “Again, Daddy! Again!”

“You want to go into space again?” he asked.

“Again!” she cheered.

“Okay, fine.” She curled up close to his chest and he settled her into his arms, turning her around so she sat on the seat he made with his laced fingers. “But this is the last time and then you have to go night-night, okay?”

She didn’t answer, instead kicked her legs in anticipation, eyes sparkling like stars in the soft glow of the lamp on the dresser nearby. Soft pink and white, it matched the new dresser standing nearby, both covered in a smattering of glittering, silver stars. Her eyes nearly bugged out her head when she first saw it, right after JC and his father finished putting it together. He’d designed it himself, having the designs sent out for construction weeks prior. He couldn’t bring himself to pick them up and assemble them. Until now. The look on her face was worth the wait, even if it was a little selfish, as his father pointed out. You were never too old to get a proper stern talk from your parents.

Altering his voice, JC began to speak as if he were a voice for mission control. “Skies are clear for take-off. We have a few clouds in the vicinity, but they look comfortable and fluffy. Let’s hope if anything goes wrong, Astronaut Robin lands among the stars. In three…two…one…blastoff!”

Once again, Robin landed on her mountain of pillows, laughing heartily while she rolled back down to the flat surface of the bed. Her gray pajamas, decorated in multiple colored lego bricks, twisted and turned against her slight frame as she staggered back to her feet. “Again!”

“No, that was the last one, Robin. Remember? It’s time for bed.”

Robin’s frown was quickly replaced by her face opening. “Story time?” Leaning over the raised sides of the bed, she grasped the Dr. Suess book and lifted it over her head.

“No stories. No games. It’s time for bed,” JC said. He took the book and set it back where she got it from. “We already brushed your teeth and sang songs and read your books. We made a deal.” Despite the aching tug in his chest, he resisted her tiny lower lip popping out and her eyes widening. “No puppy-face. Bedtime.”

Heaving a world-weary sigh that no two-year-old should muster, she flopped back on her bed, bringing her bottom lip back in. “Okay,” she conceded.

“Good. Here comes the crane!” Grasping her ankles in one hand, he lifted her off the bed until she hung upside down in the air, the ends of her hair brushing against the soft blanket. He pulled down the blanket and slowly lowered her back down, emitting a slow and steady run of beeps as if moving heavy machinery. She giggled all the while, squirming and wiggling until she lay back down against the pillows and he pulled the blankets up to her chest, tucking them beneath her arms. “Now, we agreed. No getting out of bed. Right?”

She nodded. “Right.”

“And no going down to the kitchen. Right?”

“Right.”

“And no drawing on things that aren’t paper. Right?”

“Right.”

“Good.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead, getting a strong vanilla whiff of her shampoo. A change from her scentless baby shampoo. “Goodnight, my baby bird,” he murmured against her skin, stroking her hair, “I love you.”

“I love you, Daddy.” She reached out her arms and hugged him around his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek, tattooing it to his soul. As he dimmed the lamp light, her face scrunched up and she yawned while settling against the pillows, grabbing at her stuffed lion. “Daddy stay?”

He paused by the door, a lump forming in his throat, heart squeezing. “You want me to keep you company?”

Her squished cheek rubbed against the pillow she buried her face into. “Daddy stay,” she repeated.

Swallowing back the tears threatening to fall, he pushed out a heavy breath and climbed into bed next to her. His long legs dangled over the edge and one of the arms dug into his back but having Robin still fit into his arms and drift off to sleep made the uncomfortable position worth it. He watched her, watched as her eyelids drooped and the muscles in her face relaxed and the slow rise and fall of her chest as her dreams carried her away. He stroked her hair, letting the shiny, silky strands slip through his fingers. “I won’t go anywhere. Not unless you want me to. I’ll always be right here. I promise. Okay?”

She grasped his thumb in her whole hand and gave it a squeeze. Her sleepy, dreamy voice broke the silence in the room and wrapped around his heart. “Okay, Daddy.”