Code Name Alice has started laughing. And I mean laughing. She giggles and cackles in little unstoppable fits that go on for ten to twenty minutes.
She smiled on her 3rd day, the first day home from the hospital. I laid her down on the changing table and she looked at me with a wide grin. It wasn't gas. She held it for a full minute--long enough to snap some pictures:
So, now, It's morning and I'm putting her pants on. Half way up, she looks at me and fills with endorphins. Her arms flail in their usual manner and her head toggles left and right, without taking her eyes off of me. It's as if her body wants her to look all around the room, but her eyes are glued to an invisible line between us. She giggles, her little tongue bouncing out and darting back in. Did you know that endorphins are contagious?
Everything falls away. It's just the two of us laughing chaotically, harmoniously, feeding off of each other.
Code Name Alice: "Daddy! haha, hehe, hoo... did you. haha.... know... aaaah-hahaha ... you have a face? tnee-heehe-nnna. That is sooo... heehee-hee.. fuuunnieeee .... hehe-weeeeee"
Sleep Deprivation Ninja: "Haha! you ...eh-eheh... think my face is ...haha-heee... funny. hah-heh-huh. You should see yours!"
We carry on and on. Work does not exist. Chores vanish. Worldly woes? gone. There is nothing but the present.
We begin life so enlightened, with the power to make all troubles vanish simply by smiling, curing all ills with a simple belly laugh.