Ruthie is doing much better. It took a few days, a frantic call to the doctor, some saline drops and a lot of booger-suction, but she's herself again. It's a relief to see her smile again, and a joy to notice that, hey, she's smiling a lot more!

I've been having strange dreams and paranoias lately; things about cars exploding and strange characters approaching me deleriously. It's all probably a result of Ruthie's illness, and the realization that I'm so much more powerless to protect her than I knew.

Moments that make my heart leap include the times when she discovers how delicious her fists are. She holds them near her face like two tiny ice cream cones. I know she's found them when I hear delighted squeaks and cooing noises from wherever she's situated. I know that her hands have deftly evaded her when the delighted squeak turns into a frustrated squawk.

She's got such an intense look about her. I hope she'll be an astute observer of human nature. Like her parents, she'll probably have an opinion on everything once she figures out how to express it.