I woke up this morning to Chloë calling softly, "Maia? Maia? Maia? Maia, are you awake? Maia? Maia?"
Evidently she was, or was by the time Chloë finished speaking. There were some murmurs. I burrowed deeper in the covers, savoring my last moments of being warm and prone and un-climbed-on. "I'll go get Mama," Chloë said, and I nodded to myself. There was a quiet pause.
Then I woke up again to hear Chloë saying something else to Maia, and Maia answering. The clock said 7:25, which meant it was high time to get up. So I elevated myself and padded to Maia's room.
Chloë lay on the floor, on her stomach. Maia lounged in her crib. They were both pleased to see me, but not as enthusiastic as they sometimes get. "Where were you?" Chloë asked as I lifted Maia out and prepared to change her diaper. "I went to your bed but you weren't there."
"I was there," I said. "Maybe you couldn't see me because I was next to Daddy?"
"Maybe you were under the blanket," she suggested, darkly, as if I'd hidden from her on purpose. I hadn't, but now I know how to fool her. Or at least I did. I suppose she's wise to that trick now.