When I wake up, my hair is a total mess. I need to get to Jeff's house so that he can start an 8 o'clock meeting. I pretend that a thick hairband is all that I need to tame my hair (it's not) and throw on a dress before getting next door five minutes until the web conference starts. He's already hooked up in his office, with Danny in a baby carrier next to him. I crouch down to pick up Danny and sneak out of the room. I can see that his mike is live.

As I pick up the carrier, Danny's little eyes open. His face scrunches like he's about to cry as I pull him away from his father. And in another second, a wail begins to rise. I close the door hastily, which makes it slam. I wince as Danny's volume doubles.

"Shh," I say. "I'm sorry, little one."

Danny is screaming like I've lit him on fire. Tears are streaming down his face, and he's trying to rock himself out of the baby carrier, which is not particularly helpful. I lug him to the other side of the house and pull him out of the carrier. He's trying to push me away, but he's not that strong. His lungs certainly are, though. 

"Shh, Danny, it's okay. You're okay."

The only response is screaming loud enough to permanently damage my eardrums. I stand up and walk in a slow circle around the living room, which helps. In a few minutes, Danny's sobs are quiet. His face is nuzzling my shoulder in a way that I would find cuter if it hadn't been preceded by extremely loud screaming.

"You're still sleepy, aren't you?" I rub his tiny little back. I can feel how soft and loose he is right now. I continue walking in a slow circle. He's just cranky when he wakes up. In another five minutes, his entire body is limp and he's breathing slowly. I ease him off of my shoulder and very gently place him in the carrier.

"Oh, Danny," I sigh. I tickle his foot. A smile flits across his face before getting lost. Sometimes the most valuable things have to be fought for. If Danny weren't a difficult baby, then I wouldn't be called in to watch this precious little angel snoozing. With Danny safely asleep, I go to the kitchen and mix some formula into a bottle that'll be ready when he wakes up. I don't know if Jeff fed him yet. It's better to be safe than sorry. I measure the right amount of formula into a bottle, add warm water, and shake it up. I test it on my wrist. It's too hot, so I set it aside.

I can hear the soft murmurs that mean that Jeff is still in the conference call. Danny's asleep, a miracle, so all I have to do is plan the day. Maybe we'll start with some fun books. Before she died, Jeff's wife stocked a huge bookshelf with baby books, the kind with thick pages that are harder for little ones to tear. I take two that I haven't read to Danny before and bring them into the living room. I can feel something in my throat that is making it hard to swallow. I'm tearing up a little bit. If his mom hadn't died, I wouldn't be planning on reading to him right now. I curl up on the couch and listen to Danny's steady breathing until I hear a hitch in his breath. When I open my eyes, he's looking right at me. He's frowning in a way that means that tears are 10 seconds away.

"Hey, little one," I say, pulling him onto the couch with me. I twist so that I'm on the outside and he's next to the back of the couch. "How are you feeling now?"

He lets out half a wail, like he's testing the waters. His heart doesn't really seem to be into it.

"None of that, now," I say sternly. I tickle his tummy, which brings a smile to his face. He seems torn between the impulse to giggle and the impulse to cry. Finally, he lets out a belly laugh, a chortle that makes me laugh, too.

"I love you," I say.

He beams at me and pats my face with more enthusiasm than accuracy. He's actually patting my earlobe and jawbone.

"It's the thought that counts," I tell Danny. He grins at me even more and then pushes his tiny fingers into my mouth.  "Nom nom nom," I say, pretending to chomp on his fingers. He squeals in delight and touches my cheek with the saliva-covered fingers. It feels slimy.

"Ugh," I say, wiping off my cheek and using his bib to wipe his hand. "Are you hungry? I made a bottle for you." I tell him, "Don't move an inch!" I run into the kitchen, grab the bottle, and then head back. He hasn't moved, just staring at me. I bring the nipple of the bottle to his mouth. He opens it but doesn't suck. He gnaws on it, which makes me wince in sympathy.

"Good thing I'm not attached to that, huh?"

He gets bored with the bottle and flings it from him. A few drops spill from the nipple. I sigh. "I guess your daddy already fed you, Danny." I pick it up and set it on the table. "Do you want to read books?"

"Ah," he says.

"I'll take that as a yes." I stand up and grab a thick cardboard book from the shelf. "Where are the eggs, Danny?" I read him a book about finding the eggs on a farm. He's engrossed, but I think that the book might not last long. There are flaps where you can see the animals, but the flaps are made of flimsy paper on top of the cardboard pages. I very gently pull them from his hands. He's still at the age where he puts everything in his mouth, and I don't think that the paper would be particularly palatable.

When we finish the egg book, he stares at the back cover intently.

"Are you reading the barcode, darling?" He just takes the book in both hands and slams it down on the floor.

"Okay then," I say. "More books?"