Baby.

Newborn lalaland is full of the sweetest odors (stored in the soft folds of a neck or venting freely from the top of a tiny head), tiny sleep movements (which transfigure time to where it is no longer made of the same stuff), barnyard animal noises (as my sister Julie likes to call them), a little face whose expressions transform it from a little thing of a few days to a wise old sea turtle and back again in a flash...drifting in and out of my own sleep with only one little thing emerging at the point of consciousness - her. I feel like I've been drugged and I can't believe I lived without the stuff running through my veins up to now, even if it readily makes me cry and my breath stop short just to glance down at the thing in my arms.