The Verdict

Our daughter’s look of seeming disgust may be that of a drunk judge, but that’s not all that’s cute about her.

Her grunting contortions are superimposed on her sleep. Her sprawled-out relaxation hearkens back to happy memories of Jello. Her wide- (and I mean wide) eyed intensity soaks up the fly-by that is life (or at least the filling of diapers). When the good six ounces of milk regurgitated on my t-shirt become her facial, when bathing leaves her so tense and tentatively curious that she emits not a peep, when her eyes meet and focus on ours with occasional registration, when her arms and legs are flung wide with livid kicks and orchestral sweeps–during all of these she is marvelous.

But I am in love not only with her. Meals brought to us by our families (ham, salad, pork roast, lima beans, pizza, steak, fruit, sweet potatoes, baked beans, corn, cookies, bean dip, custard…and much more), meals brought to us by our church (pasta and meat balls, pecan pie, beef stew, cake, fresh homemade bread, cherry crisp…and much more), and many other pieces of attention prompted me to comment to Lloyd at church on Sunday, “We need to have babies more often!”