Every morning at the crack of dawn, Luma starts to squawk. Within a few minutes of not being picked up she sounds more like a rooster. When Jason, Iole and I spent three-months in Folegandros, the ki-ki-ri-ki-ki of the roosters was our wake-up call there, too. Only, the sound was far less obnoxious on a far flung island in the Aegean. From our little house in Chora, it was funny and familiar and signaled the start of a bright new day. I can’t say we’re always so chirpie and optimistic, these days, when the bird song begins. But when I finally fold, step into her room, and find a baby girl all dressed in white with crazy wisps of hair in her face and a smile from ear-to-ear, optimism is restored.