My daughter, formerly known as Alaythia, currently insisting on being called Mary, is raising her baby right here in our own home. It’s lovely, really — multi-generational living is something people rarely do these days. And there’s something so, um, precious, about always having to look out for the baby Jesus.
In fact, just this evening Cosette and I got to babysit baby Jesus. We weren’t to wake him up, we had to give him a bottle, and we needed to keep the room dark for him to sleep. Cosette is to cheer him if he wakes in the night but I strongly suspect he’s the “no crying he makes” type so I think we’re okay on that front.