“Come on, Joel. If we don’t leave now, I’m going to want to go to sleep rather than have dinner.”
Those were the words my wife, Rachel, used to try to tear me away from Evy on Saturday night, about a half hour after her 8 p.m. feeding. As many times as she told me how tired she was, though, I couldn’t walk away. Evy was fully awake, looking around and engaging with me as much as a tiny 2-month-old preemie could. She would look at me, nestle into my hand when I put it on her face, and suck on my pinkie when I put it near her mouth. And since she was now in a crib instead of an Isolette, I could reach in and gently caress and play without a layer of plastic between us.
