It was a constant struggle to keep you entertained. Our companion Sophie the Giraffe was a hit for the first 30 minutes.
Then you got so mad at Sophie that we had to hide her under the burp cloth so you did not gobble her up in one bite.
So we had to find new things to play with, like this bottle that you nomed for five seconds.
So I fed you some food.
And made you a train bed. But don't be fooled, everyone could hear you screeching under that very lightweight blanket. You screeched like a starred ghost banshee and I was worried the conductor was going to toss you into the river.
You did not sleep well so when we got the hotel, we got you into your pjs and right into bed.
While you were sleeping, I collapsed into the soft white pillows and thought about how different my life is now that you are in it. I used to have these little parcels of happiness that I would open in my mind when things were hard. In these parcels were perfect memories: snowboarding alone down a hill listening to Third Eye Blind, snuggling on the winter-cold Pacific Northwest beach with your dad when we were young, hot and sticky kisses in Australia my sophomore year of college. Those memories seem distant.
Now I have one parcel. One that delivers a daily dose of happiness, when that warm feeling buzzes up though your belly and through your smile, I have that every day now. When you have just woken up from your nap and I pull you up to me and you are tired and heavy, the happiness your little being produces could crush me. You are the heaviest weight. The best weight. The best gift. The parcel I can open up again and again for the rest of my life. Even when you are screeching on the train, or fighting naps or spitting up on my 5th outfit, it is all worth it. Good work little parcel.