And we have a . . .

SMILER!

Oh all right, I haven't captured it on camera, but it's true! Our little Baby Star smiles!

Unquestionably!

Of course the poor angel tried to smile at us for some time before we would acknowledge her efforts.

"No. No," we'd say. "True she is looking directly into our eyes. And is fully awake. But she's only two weeks! It can't possibly be a true smile."

Or: "Impossible! Yes, it may be that she is completely alert and appears to be smiling -- directly and delightedly -- in response to our own smiles, but she's only three weeks! It just can't be so."

Finally, at four weeks, after a joyous smile lit up her face in response to Anders, we quit insisting on things like "reflex smiles", conceded that she had been smiling at us all along, and declared her our earliest smiler.

And, as if that wasn't enough, the other night she was lying on my bed while I busied about with something or other, when suddenly I heard a single, heart-melting coo!

Did you realize babies learn to make sounds?!? Purposeful sounds above and beyond cries or little fussing whimpers?

Well, of course you did, but I'd forgotten about the miracle of all these tiny little beginnings! Perfect gifts -- coming just in time to rescue and restore the parts of your soul that felt they might die if your newborn aged.

(Also, isn't Summer falling asleep while holding Starling just so so dear?)

Lastly, these next pictures were taken nine days into life with Starling:

Is life, you might be wondering, any more normal now? One month in?

Who can say. It no longer feels wholly new and otherworldly like those very first few weeks did -- when even doing something as simple as taking new baby Starling out somewhere (like to her first doctor appointment) felt strange and like, "How can all these people coming and going around me be acting so normal? Can't they sense that all of life has changed? Don't they recognize that there is nothing remotely normal about me being here -- with this brand new baby in tow?"

No. It doesn't feel like that. (Which in some ways is a bit sad. That space of time being almost sacred in it's newness and unfamiliarity.) Normal life has demanded all of its attention again. Birthdaying and Easter, groceries and school drop offs and pick ups, dinner-time and laundry. We are doing all of those things. But just . . . with a lot more juggling and a lot less sleep and almost always one less arm and hand. 

Here are a few pictures of the normal trying to go about its business:

Penny in several mustaches. (Certainly this fits just fine in the normal category.)

And Goldie is fully free of her crutches. They assure her that her leg is strong and not to fear doing normal things (like this small jump here), but she's still limping and going to physical therapy so she's not completely "good as new" yet. They guessed it would be six to nine months before she'd be that. Still, when I think of all the craziness of that first while and how truly impossible it seemed (after her initial surgery) that she might ever be able to even get up off her hospital bed at all, her being crutch-free is pretty amazing!

And Daisy turned 17. SEVENTEEN! It's one of those numbers that surprise me more than others in how old it sounds. She has a (surprisingly well-lit) window-well outside her bedroom window where various little green weeds manage to spring up between the rocks and live throughout the winter. For some time she's felt she ought to make a little fairy garden in that window-well . . . and so, among other things, she got some fairy garden homes for her birthday.

(This globe was from Goldie. It turns out Daisy has always wanted one. Only who knew? Well, Goldie, apparently. It's nice to have sisters around to know the important things that moms might not.)

And last of all: Easter!

(I've avoided this for most of the year -- mostly because it just hasn't seemed real, but I find myself increasingly slipping into sentimental little thoughts of lasts. Next year we won't be pulling out Abe's old Easter basket and he won't be opening treat-filled eggs with the rest of his siblings. Each of these thoughts are like a tiny hole stabbed in my heart . . . that I quickly plug up by not thinking about it lest I bleed completely dry.)