My 4-year-old daughter Maya has her firs

Answer

Little duck Pip stood at the edge of the calm pond, his small webbed feet on the soft grass.
Tomorrow morning, he would put his toes in the water for the very first time.
Mama Duck stood right beside him, her warm feathers almost touching his back.

Inside Pip's small chest, butterflies were flapping their wings.
Flutter, flutter, flutter.
He did not know if the water would be cold or warm.
He did not know if a little splash might jump up and kiss his beak.

Mama Duck said softly, "Sometimes a drop comes up and says hello to your face. It feels cool, like a tiny finger tapping once."
"You can blink. When you blink, the cool becomes a tiny drop, and it slides down, and it's gone."
"Mama is right here."

Pip squatted low. He put one toe into the pond.
Cool. Tingly. Like stepping onto a soft, cool cloud.
Then the other toe. The water made little circles around his feet.

One little splash jumped up and kissed Pip's beak.
Cool, just like a tiny tap.
Pip blinked. The drop slid down, and made one small ring on the water.

Pip smiled. The butterflies in his chest slowed their wings.
Mama's feathers rocked gently in the breeze. The pond grew soft and quiet.

The path home was short. The little lights along the way looked like sleepy moons.
Pip crawled into his bed and tucked his toes under the soft blanket.
Mama patted the edge of the blanket: slowly, quietly.

Half the light went out. Half of Pip's eyes went out too.
The moon was still outside. The blanket was still here. Mama was still here.
Good night, Pip. Tomorrow, the pond will be waiting, soft and slow.