In the warm, dampening spot on my chest I feel her entire tiny body lifting and falling with every breath. My back begins to ache from leaning backwards to provide her a more horizontal sleeping surface but I am not giving up these moments for everything and she srunches her pink face, grunts some, and stretches taut as I gently lift her yet again back toward my neck. When she rests this the head not much bigger than my fist enclosing the other rests on a U of extended arms.
I point out her long eyelashes and her grandmother says, in her Russian Yiddish accent, "She has no eyebrows!" and chuckles. But she does, painted faintly in wisps. One of her ears is perfect, and the other is more than perfect; a divot in the pinna creating a valentine heart shape.
I love food more than almost anything and focused on the bowl of fresh jumbo shrimp the moment we entered the dining room- but for the next ninety minutes I will kindly refuse to come to the table, preferring my slip of luxury with a three day old girl papoosed in my sweater asleep on my chest.