Sometimes the silence in the morning is beautiful. When our little girl is nestled in our bed, white sheets pulled to her chest, her tiny hands fluttering around her mouth and nose. Next to her, Chris, white sheets pulled to his brooding chest, his massive arms flopping every once in a while, his mouth pursed into a heart shaped pout. I gaze lovingly at them hoping that this moment will never leave. Their mannerisms are so similar, one would immediately know that they were from the same cloth. My heart swells. Her cry sounds. I remember that this silence is golden.