Greetings from the couch, where I have finally tricked you into sleeping on my chest. You are burritoed up in a swaddle blanket patterned with tiny rocket ships. You are fed, you have a dry diaper, you have been shown yourself in the mirror, put on the floor, given a pacifier, picked up again, danced around the den, swung low and up, low and up, low and up, entertained with a rattle, entertained with black and white cards illustrating African animals, snuggled, held, your back patted and patted and patted and patted and now, at long last, you are asleep.
For the moment.
It's hard work, being a baby.
Later I might walk you over to the playground. You are too little to play, but you like being strolled out in the crisp air, and your eyes might be developed enough to see the other children playing on the jungle gym and begin imagining that soon enough, sooner than I think, you will be one of them.
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