Total babe

Here is one period of perfect serenity, from Tuesday's ball: I held Justin's and Kathy's daughter, Elena, so they could dance. It was an alien thing when they handed it to me; I am not a holder of babies, and I didn't know what to do with this stiff little creature squirming in my arms, couldn't imagine the little square of cloth she came with protecting me from the gallons of spit-up she produced. But I soothed her, and she settled, and then I was holding this tiny precious person, warm and beautiful and content. My shirt—the black B-movie print, nicely high-contrast—held her rapt attention until I could bounce her to sleep, until her huge heavy eyelids blinked slowly closed and stayed there. I swayed in time to the music, and she slumbered sweetly all through the second half. (The girl likes bagpipes; there may be something wrong.) She clung to my collar with one wee-fingered hand; the other was outstretched, as though, in her dreams, she were directing traffic or choosing furniture or giving Adam the spark of Life.

Holding their baby, I was overcome by a wave of closeness to J&K. I remembered working in the lab with Justin, our amazed triumph when we actually produced a working hologram, our frequent and mutual confusion...and the passage of years seemed like this solid thing snaking out behind me, like I could look back over my shoulder and wave to the younger versions of us. It's hard to explain; I sensed the solidity of my connection to them, the weight of time that bound us, the reality of the changes that had affected us. Holding their baby girl made me unutterably proud to know them.

(Oh. And, yeah, holding a baby = total babe magnet.)