At nine o’clock, K starts yawning. She says it’s the pregnancy, but anyone who drags themselves out of bed at five every morning needs no excuses. Since I generally get up later, I go to bed later.

L’s twenty weeks old — she can hear now. And so, on the advice of friends, K and I have begun a nightly tradition. Just before turning out the light, of putting a small music box — a gift from my oldest friend and his family — to K’s belly. The theory is that the music will later calm L, as it reminds her of her old, warm, save home. We lie there silently, K and I imagining what it will be like when she’s falling asleep in her crib to that music, barely able to keep her eyes open, yawning, and remembering how warm and cozy she was when she first heard that music.

Again, that’s the theory anyway. I’m under no illusions that it will work like a switch: wind it up to wind her down. But the hope is it will at least calm her when she’s very upset.

Hear the tune.