No. It was behind the pressure cooker that I was always too afraid to use. No. It was hidden under the Scrabble Junior box. Damn. It must be packed not so neatly between a rolled-up yoga mat and a large papier-mâché Easter bunny that had missed the last five Easters. Finally, I found it. It was the little yellow Snugli.

Not so many years ago I carried Willie all over New York City in that little yellow Snugli. My baby boy and I would walk to Brower Park, where it was shady and cozy, and the Brooklyn Children’s Museum was right nearby if we needed a bathroom. Best of all, the park had a gentle spray sprinkler for kids. On the hottest days, I’d carry Willie under the sprinkler, and even though he was only a few weeks old, I could swear that he laughed when I splashed a tiny bit of water on his beautiful little face.

“You’re a peanut! You’re a delicious little peanut.” That’s what I’d say to Willie, and that is exactly what I say today to Tyonna. I open my mouth wide and pretend that I am going to eat her up. In case she doesn’t know what’s happening, I tell her, “I’m going to eat you up. Grrrrrrrr.” This new baby almost looks up at me. I imagine she’s already thinking, just as Willie once did, Who the hell is this crazy lady?

Tyonna smiles. No one else would be able to know that she’s smiling, but I can see it. And I tell her.

“I see that smile. Yes, I see that smile. I do.”

It’s early afternoon, and soon Tyonna and I are sitting in that same Brower Park on a metal bench, a foolish modern design with no back to lean against. I take a bottle of baby formula out of the insulated bag. It’s been resting against an ice pack, and I worry that now the bottle may be too cold. I rub the bottle against my arm.

I can almost hear my mother say, “Stop worrying about it. Just go ahead. She’ll take the bottle. The baby knows what’s best for her. Don’t wait till she starts fussing.”

My mother, even absent, is right. Tyonna happily takes the bottle. She’s hungry.

I hold the baby close to me. I tap her back gently. The burp. Oh, the wonderful sound of the baby’s burp.

I see if she wants some more. No. I try for another burp, but she’s done.