“She’s spirited,” agreed Georgia. Her eyes drifted past the camera as if she were intent on some vision only she could see. “She’s too little to talk, but when she makes noises, she looks like she’s trying to say something specific. She has a way of looking right into your eyes as she makes these emphatic sounds. I think she’s trying to tell me something.”

Jonah returned, cradling Joanie Ruth in the crook of his arm. Retrieving the baby had calmed him; he moved with purpose, his back straight. He kept his head bent toward her, murmuring in a lilting tone too soft for me to make out the words. The baby rustled appreciatively, one pearly-toed foot and one dimpled fist working their way free of her blanket.

“She was still awake,” Jonah said. He eased down on the swing next to Georgia and settled the baby in her arms, minding, as instructed, the soft spot on her skull. Georgia bent her head to Joanie Ruth and cooed something in a low tone; I couldn’t see the baby’s face, but from the energy and alertness in her little body you could make out her interest in her mother. Georgia shifted, rotating Joanie Ruth upright and toward the camera so we could all see her.

My first impression: she resembled Georgia. She had a beautifully shaped head, round and fine-boned, but even through the adorable curve of her baby cheeks you could make out the planes of the cheekbones that would one day emerge. Her eyes were huge and clear, a greeny hazel rimmed by a line of dark blue, and the fine wisps of hair curling around her tiny ears glimmered red-gold, a shade or two lighter than her mother’s.

It was her expression, though, that most displayed her genes: alert for such a young baby, quick, a little saucy. She regarded the screen in front of her as though she were studying all the faces on it, trying to memorize us. She cocked her head, and I half expected her pink lips to part and release a torrent of curse-laden humor. Instead she sighed in a series of truncated little gasps—she sounded like a minuscule train chugging—and extended a curvy, tiny arm toward us.

“Hi,” we breathed, almost collectively. I heard my own voice, mixed with the others: “Hi, Joanie Ruth.” “Hello, sweet girl.”