Laying on the couch in the dimness before sunrise with Adah in my arms as she gulps down a warm bottle, drifting in and out of sleep. Those are some of my happiest moments. I open my eyes and see her big brown eyes studying my face, and she stops drinking a minute to break into a big grin, and it overjoys me. I feel great, warm overwhelming hope that this little baby loves me, she'll always love me, we'll have a good long life together. "You just don't understand," I tell her sometimes, "what you mean to me." She plays with my hair, rubs my face, pats my shoulder. These are some of the most peaceful moments for my mind. It's a tremendous assurance to know that she, along with the other 2 kids in the house, really seem to think I'm great, no matter what, even while to society I probably don't look like much of a contributor, and to some who know me well I'm probably a real smart alec or worse. The boys revere me as if I were Spiderman. I never want to spoil that for them. Pete says, "Can you do that because you're very strong?" I'll have done something like bring the play-do bucket down from the top shelf. "Yes," I tell him, "I'm intensely strong." Nobey asks sometimes, "Why you have to go to work?" He wants me to stay home with him. I tell him they're counting on me to build those windows, and he discusses with me how very big they all are. They treat me like I'm amazing.