In his brand new, tufted and skirted bassinet, all creme, taupe, and beige, my two-week-old sleeps next to me—fed, changed, and tightly swaddled. His eyes are shut, his body is still. If I kissed the top of his head, it would feel like a peach and smell like fresh laundry. He's so close to me but separate, too. At least for now, he doesn't need me to hold, feed, burp, or carry him. He could wake up in an hour, or even ten minutes, and every hour after that. But for now, everything is exactly how I imagined it would be; everything is perfect.