I just peeked in on Lucy. Next to Milo, she is a giant, a person, a formed creature! And yet, in her sleep, she is as mushy and vulnerable as her baby brother. Her mouth puckers when I tuck the blanket around her, looking for a thumb that isn't there. When I lay my finger in her soft, open hand, she clenches it and rolls toward me. Fierce girl, surrended. She is not a baby, but she is my baby, at least when she sleeps.