Numberless

How do we count these moments? Surely, somewhere someone else is jotting this all down? Look, his head is resting on my shoulder, and there's a little smile. That simply has to be entered into the record. Not to mention that wry little smile he just gave me when I was being goofy. (How does he even know what wry is yet?) How can the way he grabs the spoon with both hands and then sucks on his rice-cerealed hands with feral focus not be recorded on someone's top-ten list of things to make you happy to be alive? Can't you see my wife curled up asleep with him, blankets murkily lapping at their shoulders? Isn't everyone simply weeping at the way he conked out in the crook of my arm, burrowing his face in and whimpering groggily?

It could stun you, if you let it, how many things have accumulated. How only four months can be filled with so much. I simply don't think anyone else could stand it.