Brought all three kids again to synagogue. There are patches where they are bored, but they get back into the groove and start playing with the other kids. The rabbi has been cozying up to me ever since we were converted under rabbinical auspices. He calls me at home with synagogue updates, takes the time to chat with me after services.

After sundown I went out to dinner with the baby. When you are cooped up all week in the house with kids, it is quite a thing indeed to be out and about. It was just lovely. The food was mediocre, but the atmosphere was calming. The baby ate half a napkin but seems none the worse.

What a treasure she is. I look at her and wonder if it's all a dream, if she's really here. She plays a game where she crawls to one piece of furniture, pulls herself up to a standing position and takes a few steps; crawls to the next piece of furniture and does the same thing. I am always touching her face, stroking her hair-- my hands are always on her hair, and I'm aghast at her beauty, this heartbreaking miracle trundling around the house.

What is this miracle splashing in my bathtub; what is this miracle squiggling against my body in the early morning? What is this miracle laughing, screaming, saying Mama? How did she get here?