Dear Lily: Your daddy sings off-key.

Dear Lil' Lily,

As I type this, I'm watching you squirm on the monitor screen next to me. You've been inconsolable for more of the day than is normal for you (a period of time which, I imagine, is infinitesimal compared to many infants your age, but it still feels abnormal to us). In particular, since we gave you your bath this evening, you've been crying. It breaks our hearts even more than it ever has before because you now cry real tears, salty droplets that well up at the corners of your big, round eyes, then spill down your soft, chubby cheeks. Real tears that we kiss and rock and shush away--but tonight to no avail.

But your daddy hasn't given up on you yet.

For nearly an hour now, he's been holding you. He's rocked you in big swings and bounced you in small hops; he's patiently taken a half hour to feed you three ounces from your bottle and offered you back your pacifier each of the times you've spit it out. And, with a soft, gentle voice, he's sung you everything from Billy Joel to Oklahoma to Elton John (via Moulin Rouge).

And he's sung every single one slightly off-key.

But here's what amazing, little girl: you don't know and you don't care. That voice is daddy's voice, your daddy's voice, and it means that you're safe, that you're cared for, that the world around you is suddenly a more familiar, less scary place. And even though you're still tossing and turning, even though we doubt we'll ever sleep tonight, you're no longer crying inconsolably--because you seem to understand, to know and to trust, that your daddy loves you. And that makes everything alright.

Your daddy loves us a whole lot, my sweet little girl.

(Now could you please go to sleep?)

Love,
Your mommy