Finn’s Song for June

Helping my baby sister feel cozy while Mom changed her diaper felt like an important job.

June lay on a padded mat in the living room. Mom stood beside her, with a clean diaper ready. June was so small that her socks looked like tiny blue muffins. Her hands opened and closed beside her cheeks.

“Can I help?” I asked.

“You can stay close and keep her company,” Mom said. “I’ll do the diaper change. New babies need an adult to help with that.”

I sat on the rug where June could see me. I wanted her to know she had a big brother who was good at helping. I looked around for something just right.

My little cloth duck was near the couch. I picked it up and held it where June could see its orange bill.

“Look, June,” I said. “Duck says hello!”

I gave the duck a tiny wiggle. June blinked. I wiggled it again, and the duck slipped from my fingers. It bumped the rug, rolled under the coffee table, and disappeared into the shadow beneath it.

“Oh,” I said. “Duck went exploring.”

I started to crawl after it, but Mom was still busy with June. I stayed where I was. June made a small, wavery sound. Her feet gave two little kicks.

“I’m still here,” I told her. “I’ll think of something else.”

Mom fastened June’s clean diaper and folded the old one away. Then she smoothed June’s shirt over her belly.

“Almost done,” Mom said. “You’re doing a nice job keeping her company.”

I sat up tall. I could still help. Maybe June needed something funny. I knew a very funny sound—one I used when I played a jungle lion.

I curled my fingers into pretend paws and leaned toward my sister.

“Ready, June?” I whispered. “Here comes a mighty lion!”

I drew in a big breath, filled my cheeks, and opened my mouth wide.

“ROAR!”

My roar bounced around the living room. It seemed to startle even me. June’s arms jumped up, and her face scrunched into a frown. Then she began to cry.

“Oh, no,” I said. I let my lion paws fall into my lap. “I was trying to be funny.”

Mom lifted one hand, asking me to wait, while she finished caring for June. She checked that the diaper was snug and June’s clothes were comfortable. Then she rested her palm near June’s shoulder.

“She’s safe,” Mom said gently. “That roar was a little loud for her.”

“I wanted to help her feel cozy,” I said. My voice had gone small. “But my duck rolled away, and my roar made things worse.”

Mom looked at me. “You’re thinking hard about what June might like. You don’t need to pick her up to comfort her. What can you do right from the rug?”

I looked at June. She was still making little cries, with a pause between each one. I remembered how Mom hummed while she folded laundry. Her tune was quiet, and it never needed any toys.

“I could sing,” I said. “Would that be okay?”

“Of course,” Mom said. “A quiet voice is lovely for singing to a baby.”

I sat very still. I didn’t want to surprise June again. I began with a soft note, then another. Mom kept one hand beside June and made sure she was warm and comfortable. I tapped my fingertips slowly against my own knee: tap, tap… tap, tap.

The tune felt like rocking, even though I stayed right where I was. I made up words just for my sister:

“Little June, your toes are small, Little June, I’m near you all. Rest your hands and blink your eyes, Big brother sings beneath the skies.”

I sang it quietly, with the slow taps keeping time. June’s cries thinned to a sniffle. Her feet stopped kicking. She looked toward my voice, and her fingers rested against her shirt.

I kept the same easy tune. I didn’t need the duck, and I didn’t need a lion’s roar. My voice and my steady taps were enough to offer June a little company while Mom cared for her.

Mom finished tidying the changing things and washed her hands. June lay safely on the mat, clean and comfortable, while Mom stayed close beside her. I remained on the rug, with my fingertips resting on my knee.

“Would you like to hear your song again?” I asked June.

She gave a quiet little sound. I took that as a yes.

I tapped the slow rhythm again. Tap, tap… tap, tap. This time, I sang even more softly, so the words barely rose above the hush of the living room.

“Little June, your toes are small, Little June, I’m near you all. Rest your hands and blink your eyes, Big brother sings beneath the skies.”

Mom smiled at me. She picked June up only when the changing was finished, holding her close and supporting her carefully. June’s cheek rested against Mom’s shoulder. I watched my sister’s tiny hand open, then curl around the edge of Mom’s shirt.

“Your song helped her settle,” Mom said.

“I made it just for June,” I told her. “I can sing it whenever she needs a little company.”

Mom sat with June on the couch, and I climbed up beside them. I kept a little space between my knees and June, but I could see her sleepy-looking eyes and the soft fold of her blanket. The lost duck stayed under the coffee table. It could wait until morning.

The room was quiet now. Mom hummed the tune under her breath, and I joined in with one low note. June rested against her, warm and snug. I didn’t have to make a big show or find a clever toy. I only had to be near and sing gently.

When Mom carried June toward her bed, I walked beside them without making a sound. At her doorway, I sang my new verse once more, slow and low. June’s hand lay still against Mom’s shoulder.

“Goodnight, June,” I whispered.