Four months had passed since the day I entered the world. Four months of discovering what it meant to be alive. The world around me, vast and complex, had started to become more familiar. It was still filled with strange sensations—sights and sounds that confused and amazed me—but I was beginning to understand. Little by little, I was learning what it meant to be me.

Lying in my crib, I stared up at the baby mobile that hung above me. It was a cluster of stars, planets, and moons, all made of soft fabric, each one spinning lazily as I pushed it with my hand. The mobile was my favorite thing in the world. The way the stars swirled around each other, casting gentle shadows across the ceiling, filled me with a sense of wonder. I would push it, watching as the tiny planets spun in wide circles, giggling whenever they seemed to float away and then come back again.

I was alone in my room, surrounded by the familiar smell of baby powder and soft blankets. The light from the window was warm, bathing everything in a golden glow. It was a peaceful moment, the kind I had come to cherish.

My body had grown stronger over the past months, my limbs no longer weak and trembling like they had been in the first days. Now, I could stretch out my arms and kick my legs with newfound strength. I could move with purpose, even if that purpose was just to make the mobile spin faster. And I did it again, pushing the little planets with as much force as my tiny hand could muster. They spun wildly, and I let out a laugh, my giggle filling the room like a burst of sunshine.

That was another thing I had discovered in these months—the power of laughter. It was a sound that seemed to come from deep inside me, bubbling up whenever something funny or joyful happened. It was different from the cries that had filled my first days, different from the wails of frustration or hunger. Laughter was light and easy, and every time I laughed, the world seemed a little brighter.

And right now, as I watched the mobile spin, I couldn’t help but laugh. The planets moved in such funny ways, wobbling and spinning like they were dancing just for me. I reached out again, my small hand brushing against the stars, and they spun even faster.

Then, I heard it—the sound of the door creaking open.

I turned my head toward the sound, my eyes widening in curiosity. I knew that sound well by now. It meant that someone—usually one of my parents—was coming to see me. Sure enough, there was my father, stepping into the room with his big, lumbering steps.

My father was a giant to me. Everything about him seemed so much larger than life—his tall frame, his broad shoulders, and especially his beard. That wild, bushy beard had become one of my favorite things to look at. It was so funny, the way it seemed to explode from his face, like a wild animal that had taken up residence on his chin. And every time I saw it, I couldn’t help but laugh.

Today was no different.

As soon as my father stepped into the room, I let out a giggle, my tiny body wriggling in excitement. He always had that effect on me—his presence filled the room with warmth and love, just like my mother’s, but in a different way. It was a quieter love, more solid and steady, like the way the earth felt beneath me when I was being carried through the house.

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He approached the crib slowly, his footsteps heavy but soft, and I watched him with wide, curious eyes. My laughter had faded into a quiet giggle, but the smile on my face remained as bright as ever. My father always made me feel happy, even when he was just standing there, looking at me with his big, kind eyes.

“What are you doing, little one?” he asked in that deep, rumbly voice of his.

I didn’t understand the words—not exactly—but I recognized the tone. It was the same warm, gentle voice he used whenever he spoke to me, a voice that carried the weight of love even when I couldn’t grasp the meaning of his words. I gurgled in response, my tiny hands reaching out toward him as I kicked my legs in excitement.

He leaned over the crib, his face coming closer, and I could see the wild mess of his beard again. It was even funnier up close, all those bristly hairs sticking out in every direction. My father’s face was such a contrast to my mother’s soft, smooth cheeks, and it never failed to make me laugh.

And just like that, I started giggling again, my whole body shaking with the force of it. My father’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled down at me, and he let out a soft chuckle of his own.

“You always laugh when you see me, don’t you?” he said, his voice full of amusement. “Is it my beard? Do you think I look funny?”

I giggled again, as if to say yes, you look very funny.

He reached out one of his large hands, and I immediately grabbed onto his finger, just like I always did. My tiny hand wrapped around his finger with surprising strength—something he often marveled at—and I gave it a playful tug. We had played this game many times before, the tug-of-war between my small hands and his strong fingers, but it never got old.

As I held onto his finger, my father smiled down at me, his eyes full of warmth. And then, he said something that caught my attention.

“Alex.”

The sound of the word made me pause. I blinked, staring up at him with wide eyes, my tiny hand still clutching his finger.

He said it again, this time more slowly, as if he wanted me to really hear it. “Alex.”

I stared at him, my mind working to make sense of the sound. It was a familiar word, one I had heard many times before, but today it felt different. Today, it felt... important.

My father smiled, his eyes twinkling as he watched me. “That’s your name, little one. Alex.”

My name?

The realization washed over me slowly, like a soft wave gently lapping at the shore. That word—Alex—was more than just a sound. It was me. It was who I was. My name.

I looked up at my father, my eyes wide with wonder. He had called me Alex, and something about the way he said it felt right. Like it belonged to me, like it had always been a part of me, even before I could understand what it meant.

“Alex,” he said again, his voice soft and full of love. “That’s you, little one.”

A sense of recognition stirred inside me, a feeling I couldn’t quite explain. I didn’t fully understand what a name was yet, but I knew that this word—Alex—was mine. It was special. It was who I was.

And as the understanding settled over me, I began to giggle again. The sound bubbled up from deep inside me, filling the room with my joy. My father laughed too, his deep chuckle mixing with my giggles as we shared the moment together.

“That’s right,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “You’re Alex.”

I kept giggling, my tiny hands reaching out toward him again, my heart filled with happiness. My name was Alex. That was who I was. And in that moment, it felt like the most wonderful thing in the world.

My father watched me with a smile, his eyes shining with love. “You’re my little Alex,” he said softly. “And you always will be.”

I stared up at him, my heart swelling with a feeling I didn’t have words for yet. It was more than just love—it was a deep sense of belonging, of knowing that I was a part of something bigger than myself. I was Alex, and I was his. And that was all I needed to know.

We stayed like that for a while, just the two of us, playing our little game of tug-of-war as my father repeated my name over and over again. Each time he said it, the word became more familiar, more comforting. It was like a warm blanket wrapping around me, a constant reminder of who I was and how much I was loved.

Eventually, my father leaned down and kissed the top of my head, his beard brushing against my soft skin. This time, it didn’t sting. It was a gentle kiss, full of tenderness, and I felt safe and happy in his arms.

As the day wore on, my mother came into the room, her face lighting up when she saw us together. She joined us by the crib, her voice soft and soothing as she spoke to me.

“There’s my little Alex,” she said with a smile, her eyes full of love.

Hearing her say my name made my heart swell with joy all over again. I looked up at her, my big eyes filled with wonder, and giggled.

“My name is Alex,” I thought to myself, though I didn’t have the words to express it yet. But I knew. Deep down, I knew.

And as the day came to a close, as I drifted off to sleep in the warm embrace of my parents' love, I knew that I was Alex. I was their little Alex, and I always would be.