The room is dark. The ceiling is covered with stars. My baby is stripped down to her diaper, and she is delighted.

We’re lying on my bed, amidst the soft white sheets and the pillowy duvet, and an album by Jerry Garcia and Dave Grisman is playing. The stars are coming from a laser star projector that my brother- and sister-in-law sent right after Alison was born. There’s a universe in our bedroom, complete with a bright blue nebula, and she is talking to it, babbling, that beautiful baby babble: “Da! Da! Ha-da. Dee dee dee. Eeeeee!”

Jordan comes in from the next room, snuggles into bed with us — we are all watching the stars dance, now. We are in heaven.

The next day, he is reading Harpers, and a picture of the universe catches her eye. Yes, I want to tell her. That is yours for the taking.

I nuzzle the top of her head.



Photo by Flickr user ThinkingCamera

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