The Sunday sun shone bright,

I snuggled beneath the sheets so tight.

This Sunday was a little different.

Not a budge, not a touch,

Not a noise, not a cough.

She went to the kitchen,

She opened the refrigerator,

Her Milk box was empty,

But she continued to persevere.

She pushed the wooden dining chair,

And reached atop the shelf,

Got the Milk Box and gently cut the seal.

She poured the milk neatly, stretching high on her toes,

I can imagine how her curly locks might have disrupted the show.

She stretched higher and reached for the plate,

Switched the button on for the microwave.

30 seconds, she waited there,

Until it beeped she opened the door with care.

With two tiny hands she removed the cup,

Brimming with milk, and slightly hot.

Closed the microwave door, and took the cup aside.

Switched on the television and set her cartoon right.

Then she carefully walked with her mug,

A spill-less journey from the kitchen to the couch.

I woke up later and wondered if my hungry baby was playing by herself.

She narrated this story with not much awe.

But I felt the glory shoot to the stars!

A proud moment of Independence I received.

I’m sure soon she can make my tea.