January 24, 2026
Dear Sophia,
The babiarchy is upon us.
Leah got decent sleep last night, she said, in spite of our noisome lass.
From your first utterances we knew your spirit animal was an old man: you thought each and every movement had to be accompanied by a sound.
You are the noisiest sleeper we’ve ever encountered.
Your mother sleeps so lightly that she wakes up constantly, because to a mother, every unusual sound – and yours are quite unusual – is a cause for worry.
I can transcribe them for you now, as you sleep this morning.
We begin our overture with the grunts and groans, your most old-mannish of sounds. Then the whistles and clicks, dolphin chirps and chittering, sighs both hard and soft, spluttering and burbling, the high-pitched mews of a kitten sliding into a piglet’s snorts and snuffles, sundry woodchopping, the thin ancient screech of the pterodactyl, curious weightlifting activity, compressed wheezes and rubbery cries like a puppy worrying a toy shaped like a duck, the sudden, breathy shriek of a barn owl, the barking cries of a seal pup, the sharp, staccato squeals of a baby chimp — I could go on, as you do, producing the whole menagerie, an inventory of evolution up to this point.
January 25, 2026
Dear Sophia,
It was maybe 2 to 3 days ago that we first noticed the corners of your mouth pulling back into something like a smile. The eyes were not involved, so it was a smile-like grimace rather than a real smile, or what experts in these things call a Duchenne smile.
But today we saw something new. You were asleep, and the corners of your mouth pulled back, but your eyes also crinkled! Are you smiling for real in your dreams? Are your abilities in your dreams just a little bit ahead of reality?
Your smile is one of the things I see when I meditate on you. Usually people meditate on their breath, or a visualization of light or energy inside their bodies. If they go outside they may meditate on a leaf, a pebble, a blade of grass.
I watch you. I see the expressions crossing your face like weather. The frowns. The strain that may suggest gas. The slack face and eyes opening briefly. I feel the love in my heart and I meditate on that.
I much prefer it.
I’ll watch you until it weirds you out.
* * *
A few days ago I was talking to Tedd and he said, “When you came back to DC six years ago, did you imagine any of this could be possible? That you would be a partner in a law firm and married to a wonderful woman and have a new baby girl and a family?”
No I didn’t.
At that time, it was just too much to imagine.
Let that be a lesson.
* * *
Did you know that in the 17th century, in England, it was all the rage for pregnant women to write books addressed to their unborn offspring? The mothers-to-be offered guidance and wisdom, particularly in the event the mother departed the world before her time.
* * *
Was it my imagination, or did you just today start to seem like you were looking at me? Your mother said the same thing. “She seems more attentive all of a sudden.”
* * *
“Look at this,” your mom says. “She goes after my breast like a piranha.” She growled and gnashed her teeth.
She noticed that you yawn like a cartoon character, starting in one lower corner of your mouth and stretching your open mouth to the opposite top corner.
This is my report from the front lines, baby.
Love,
Dad
