Spring was extraordinary in Putnam County. One of my favorite views was from the kitchen sink; just outside the window this crab-apple would explode into flower over a couple of days. I mentioned it in a song called "July" that I wrote and recorded that season. It was about waiting for our baby.

The birth went well, even though the kid might have died in an earlier age: she was in breech position with the umbilical wrapped around her neck. I thank all the mythological deities floating through the cloud formations above our heads for ultrasound. For science in general, actually. It was a C-section, so we knew the birthday in advance. We also knew she was female, and that there were no obvious defects in form or function. We couldn’t think of any reason not to know as much as we could in advance. Had we discovered problems I’m not at all sure what we would have done, or rather what C would have done. Obviously it was her decision.

We called her H, after proto-feminist H V___ in the Lord Peter Wimsey novels. She arrived with the Perseids.

Aside from an early month or two of colic, there were absolutely no problems. The colic period was frightening as we had no way of knowing whether or not the seemingly endless and unconsolable crying would continue for months or even years. Sometimes when we picked her up and paced around the dining room table she would stop; sometimes a little mambo music seemed to help (Perez Prado was number one on the playlist).

In general H was a happy kid with lots of smiling from her earliest days. She remained an incredibly easy child to raise; you hear (and sometimes see) so many horror stories. After a few months we learned not to say much about what a great baby she was lest it plunge other parents into despair. Plus it’s bragging, and midwesterners aren't supposed to do that.

H did not like the Santa outfit, but her parents were so pleased with the pic we used it as an Xmas card. I can't understand how a girl so opposed to outfits would become such an avid cosplayer.