So it's three in the morning and I'm feeding Michael from a bottle since Jo is wiped out and, briefly, just for a moment, he opens his huge, dark eyes. They're deep, stormy blue -- blue just this side of black, his eyes -- and I can see a thought, a coherent thought, perhaps his first, forming deep in his soul:

"Jesus, Mom," his eyes say to me, "when the hell did you get so ugly?"