Here's a more recent shot of Austen (last weekend). What a wonderful time to be a baby, five months old. The sun streams into our living room on these crisp winter mornings and floods the carpet and play area with light. The cat lounges, Austen lounges, or plays, rolling this way and that, gumming the odd toy here and there. He laughs now, occasionally. If your heart doesn't take flight at the new-found giggle of your baby, you are truly broken. Based on what I feel when he laughs, I am far from it. Exhausted, exhilarated, dumbfounded and awed, yes, but far from broken.