Martha had been restless all day.
Not unhappy, just charged with energy that made her wriggle, kick, and squeal whenever Lois set her down. By the time Clark came downstairs after changing out of his work clothes, she was already twisting excitedly on her blanket in the living room, arms reaching for anything she could grab.
“She’s in a mood,” Lois remarked, eyeing her daughter with equal parts suspicion and pride.
Clark knelt beside the mat. “She must have gotten that from her mother,” he teased.
Lois glared at him. “I’m choosing to ignore that.”
Martha kicked again and rolled onto her side. Lois and Clark both froze.
They watched as Martha lifted her head higher than ever before. Her tiny arms trembled with effort, but she held herself up, unsteady and wobbling.
“Look at her,” Lois whispered. “She’s getting so strong.”
Clark’s breath caught. “She’s trying to push up.”
Martha grunted before collapsing gently onto her cheek. She wasn’t discouraged. A second later, she lifted her head again.
Only after Martha tired herself out did Lois lift the eleventh bag from the basket. She handed it to Clark, who sat cross-legged beside their determined daughter.
A tuft of soft green artificial moss rested inside, velvety to the touch. Beneath it lay the note.
Lois unfolded the page and read:
The boy’s growth came quietly, in stumbles and small victories. He fell. He got back up. He doubted himself, then tried again. Like moss settling on stone, soft, persistent, barely noticed, these small moments formed the foundation of everything he would become.
Clark brushed his thumb over the moss.
“That’s how it was,” he murmured. “My parents never pushed me to leap ahead. They just let the small things matter.”
Lois glanced at Martha, who was now trying to grab her own foot.
Clark squeezed Lois’s hand. “You realize she’s going to start crawling soon.”
Lois groaned. “I’m not ready. Our entire house is a death trap.”
Clark laughed. “We’ll start baby-proofing this weekend.”
Martha flailed her arms toward the moss, so Clark let her touch it. Her fingers brushed the soft green and she cooed.
Clark placed the moss beside the other pieces of their growing nativity scene. Together they watched Martha attempt another push-up, tiny elbows shaking, face scrunched in concentration.
Then she farted. Loudly.
Lois and Clark looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“She may be working on crawling,” Lois said, “but I think what she needs most right now is a fresh diaper.”
Clark scooped Martha up. “Come on, troublemaker.”
He headed upstairs while Lois moved to the kitchen to start dinner, still smiling.
