1 Mother 2 Another

3 a.m., and the house is dark.  The neighborhood is silent but for our daughter, screaming in rage, tears running down her face.  I read somewhere that babies don’t manufacture tears the first few months of their life.  My daughter’s tears fell in the hospital, so thanks for nothing; I don’t think there exists a sight more heartbreaking, her big blue eyes looking at you, begging you to help her, trusting you can make it better.  I put her in the Bjorn and dance around the room to her favorite music.  And she’s definitely got favorites.  So far, she loves The Beatles, contemporary praise music (especially Chris Tomlin), and Hawaiian slack key guitar.  Go figure.  But in a weird way, dancing around my living room in the middle of the night singing Alleluias isn’t the worst thing.