I got out of bed for the first time in weeks just because I wanted to. I went into the kitchen. Jean and I keep a little note pad that tracks Colette's nighttime activity. The latest entries read:

12.15 am – bottle (3 oz) wet diaper
12.22 – child is trying to eat her entire hand
1:15 – child fell asleep

(I don't think I've ever heard Jean call Colette "child" anywhere but in this context. When I read the word I think of Bill Cosby in his concert video Himself. It's a loaded word.)

So Colette zonked out at 1:15 and Jean got to have a (fairly) decent night's sleep. I walked down the hall and checked on Colette. She was cute and fast asleep, facing away from me.

I went back to the kitchen and stood in the middle of the room. It was light outside but the neon light over the sink, which is left on overnight, was still brighter. I looked at my coffee pot. Should I start my coffee now? I looked at the trash can. It's trash day: perhaps I should clean up first. For about thirty seconds I reveled in the knowledge that I had the time to choose how I was going to start my day.

I took the trash out, started my coffee, fed the dogs, checked on Colette (still asleep), ironed my shirt for work, started my computer, checked on Colette (still asleep), checked on Jean (still asleep), got ready for work, checked my e-mail while having coffee and toast, checked on Colette (still asleep), put the dogs in their cage, woke Jean up (ever so slightly) to wish her a good morning, and drove to work.

Jean called me later in the morning to tell me that Colette slept until 9:30. From 1:15 to 9:30, and she's less than five weeks old.

We really do have the best baby.