We are both wearing socks, with our feet curled up under us, facing one another on the gray couch. The baby is nearly 5 weeks old now and she is sleeping with her mouth wide open, a little breastmilk left over on her chin. Ainsley is gently squeezing and releasing her daughter’s tiny foot while she tells me how she met her husband. She pauses and says, “I haven’t told this story in ages.” We fall quiet, smiling at the baby, both thinking how that story led to this one now. 

Ainsley’s phone buzzes softly under her thigh. She silences it and starts to move to get up. “My alarm,” she says, “gotta grab my postnatal vitamins.” “I got it,” I say and grab her water to refill as well. I’m back in a flash and she laughs and says, “that would have been a whole ordeal for me: trying not to wake her and doing everything one-handed.” I smile and we tuck back in to keep talking.