Anika at nine months

Nine months with her feels like living inside a soft, noisy, colorful bubble. Every day she does something tiny that somehow becomes the highlight of the house.

The latest photoshoot happened because Lovely had another idea in her head. She arranged chocolates into the number nine, dressed Anika in a bright pink outfit, and placed her right next to it. I stood there thinking, only a child can pull off sitting beside a pile of toffees without looking confused about the concept. She kept grabbing wrappers, shaking them like they were treasures, and giving us this serious face whenever we tried to take them back.

This month, Anika has become more curious. Not restless, just aware. She looks at objects as if she is trying to figure out their purpose. She looks at us in the same way sometimes, which hurts the ego a little because she stares like she is evaluating our choices.

Her confidence while sitting has improved. She leans forward, reaches for things that are slightly far, and has this proud look when she manages to grab something. The house feels different now because she notices everything. A sound. A color. A small movement. Nothing passes without a reaction.

What changed for me is harder to explain. I feel more tuned into her rhythm. She wakes up, looks around slowly, and when her eyes land on us, she gives this half-smile that feels like a personal achievement. It is strange how such a small gesture can calm down a whole day.

I also catch myself watching her more often. Not in the dramatic fatherhood way, but in a simple way. Just paying attention to how she grows. How she learns. How she depends on us without thinking twice.

The next month will probably be more chaotic. She is already preparing to move faster, and we know the real activity is coming soon. For now, I am holding on to these quieter moments, the way she sits on the bedsheet surrounded by chocolates and looks like she is running her own festival.

Nine months of Anika. The house feels fuller. My mind feels softer. And every small moment somehow turns into a memory we will talk about later.