Coralie

Baby:

The house is empty and quiet. I sit at the coffee table, sipping a cup of too sweet coffee, savoring the quiet and the peace, which is so uncommon. My husband, Leo, is shopping for groceries, and the sun has just begun to set, painting the room golden with its last rays.

Coralie, the baby, is napping in her room. I smile, thinking about her. She's the best thing that ever happened to me, and yet also so exhausting. Her bright, hazel eyes are nearly always full of tears, and her mouth is always chewing something it isn't supposed to.

Even so, my heart swells with warmth when I think about her.

I check my watch - it's been about half an hour since I left her sleeping in her crib, and about time to check on her.

I tip-toe into her room, cracking the door open and peeking in. She's nestled under the blankets, her eyes closed and her chest rising and falling with each breath. She's cuddling the small, blue stuffed bear we got her.

As I turn to leave, my foot slips on a floor board, making a tiny sound. I freeze, looking back.

For a moment, all is quiet. Then her eyes flutter open, and she starts to shriek and cry.

I rush over, cradling her in my arms, cooing soft words to her until her eyes close again.

"Hush little baby, don't you cry," I croon, and as I sing, she falls back asleep.

I gently place her back into her crib, arrange the blankets over her, and softly shut the door as I leave the room.

"I love you, Coralie," I whisper before shutting the door. She doesn't wake up, but she shifts in her crib, letting out a soft murmur, and I can imagine her saying in her sweet, happy voice that she loves me too.

Preschooler:

"Momma!" she shouts when she sees my car pulling into the parking lot of her preschool. The bell rang about a minute ago, but I'm always a bit late.

I get out of the car, shutting the door behind me, and smile as she runs towards me, crashing into my arms. I pick her up, resting her on my hip.

"How was today?" I say, bouncing her a little in my arms. She giggles.

"Good!" she says.

"Yeah? What did you do?" I say, opening the car door and strapping her into her car seat.

"We made finger puppets!" she says, a grin lighting up her face. It's gone in second, however, when she seems to remember something.

"Oh no!" she says. "I forget mine!"

Tears start to form in the corners of her eyes, and before she can start crying, I quickly speak.

"Don't worry. We can just go back and get it. Okay? Let's just see if we can find it," I reassure her. She nods, looking a bit happier.

I unstrap her from her seat and pick her up, walking across the parking lot back to where her classroom is. Her teacher, a woman named Louise, is locking it up as she prepares to leave. Her exhausted expression quickly morphs into a smile when she sees us.

"Hey guys. Did you forget something?" she asks.

"My finger puppet," Coralie says.

"All righty," Louise says. "It's probably in your cubby."

She unlocks the door and Coralie rushes in. While I wait for her to get my finger puppet, I turn to Louise.

"Thank you," I say, looking at her gratefully.

"Oh! No problem," Louise replies. Coralie quickly comes out of the classroom, holding a mass of strings and fabric in her hand.

"I found it!" she announces. "Do you like it, Momma?"

I hoist her up again, smiling at her.

"I love it," I say.

Gradeschooler:

She's in third grade now, and most days Leo picks her up after work, except for Fridays, which is today. She pulls into the parking lot, running her hands through her hair and looking around the playground for where Coralie was usually playing with her friends.

I spot her on the slide, shouting something to Ashley, her best friend.

I get out of the car.

"Coral!" I call. "It's time to go!"

"Please? Five more minutes?" Coralie begs. I sigh, but relent, I'm not in the mood to fight over this right now.

Five minutes go by.

"Coral!" I call again.

"It hasn't been five minutes yet," she says. "It hasn't even been one."

I check my watch - it's been more than five minutes now.

"Coralie, if you don't come now, then I won't let you have extra time tomorrow," I say sternly.

Grumbling, Coralie drags her feet over to me.

"Fine," she says. "Bye, Ashley!"

We drive home in silence. Coralie glares out the window the whole way home.

When we get home, Leo greets her and she immediately brightens up. I watch with a pang of envy as he hoists her up, grunting under her weight, and asks what she wants for dinner.

Teen:

"Lia!" I call, which Coralie goes by. "Time for dinner!"

"Coming!" I hear her call back from her room, which she stays in nearly all day from the time she gets back from school. I exchange a look at Leo and we both sigh.

"Lia!" I call again.

"I said, coming!" she says, her voice full of impatience and annoyance.

Eventually, I hear her coming down the hall, and she sits down at the table, her phone sticking out of her pocket. We eat dinner in silence, with my occasional attempts to make conversation largely ignored.

When she's done, she takes her plate to the sink and turns to walk away.

I catch a glimpse of her face before she goes down the hall to her room and shuts the door.

Her eyes aren't as bright as they were anymore - the light of happiness and hope has faded somewhat. She isn't constantly smiling as much anymore, even though she's still happy.

I find myself missing the innocent little girl she used to be, even though I love who she's become.

I remember holding her, so many years before, hoping she wouldn't wake up and cry and sob, hoping she'd stay peaceful and asleep. Hoping that I'd have some quiet, alone time to myself.

Now I just wish she'd talk to me.