R
ocking a baby in a crib (especially if you're related to said baby) is a lot like looking into a fire. There's just something in the human mind that lets you lose yourself in the rhythm of the act.
John Antonio loves the sound of my singing voice. It is remarkable the way that he can transfer instantly from more expressive outrage than I can imagine putting forth, to complete tranquility and benign interest in the world in the span of two seconds.
Time flies in baby-land. There's always something to do, and not a lot of time in between. My life now consists almost wholly of doing things I'd basically never done before, and now do over and over and over.