Yet time creeps at 2 or 3 or 4 a.m. when the baby is crying or mewling or howling or screaming in staccato bursts and you've cycled through your repertoire of gentle bounces, rapid back pats, shooshing, humming, and rocking, to finally settle on holding her close and just swaying in a way that makes it hard to tell which of you is holding on more for dear life.
At those moments, when an afternoon of smiling wonder and gurgling amazement seems so far away, or when the baby's blown out her diaper all the way up her back and she's wearing that outfit that she hates to have pulled over her head, I am so thankful that J. and I are in this together.
I also remind myself that this too shall pass, probably in an hour or less, and I will again find myself in bare feet beside her bassinet or inches from her in bed, staring intently at her sleeping face in the dimness and straining over the sound of her dad's snores to make out the tiny puffs of breath that prove she is indeed sleeping peacefully.As she giggles in her sleep (what are you laughing at and what does a 3 month old consider comedic?), I think back to all the giggles and smiles of the past three months. The very first smile in the delivery room, the smiles when I blow raspberries at you, and the ones that sprang forth inexplicably a couple weeks ago every time your dad said "PVC piping" as we talked about a drainage project. Budding hydro-engineer or just a fine sense of the absurd? Time will tell. She is such a gift and I can't wait to see what else she shares with us next month.