Pam’s eyes fly open.  Bright sunlight seeps through the cracks between the shades, and the clock on her nightstand clearly says 8:17, but the little row of dots on the monitor refuse to light up, no matter how closely she peers at them.

“Jim!” she whispers softly.

He stirs and opens his eyes.  “Hmm?”

She says nothing, just points at the clock, letting the smile take over her face.

He sits bolt upright.  “Oh my God.  She did it!”

“Six whole hours she slept!” she says.  “Like, six and change!” 

Together they watch the monitor in silence for a few seconds.  Pam rests her hand on the flat of Jim’s stomach and feels it rise and fall with his breathing.  He puts an arm around her and kisses the top of her head.  “I feel amazing,” he says.  “This is the greatest thing that has ever happened in the history of time.”

“I know,” she says.  “But we should probably get ready for work.”

“Yeah, probably,” he says.

Neither of them move.

----

“Maybe we’re both sick today,” she suggests.  “Maybe all three of us have a horrible stomach bug.”

He grins.  “Is that the kind of example you want to set for our child?  It’s parenting like that that’s destroying America.”

“Oh, I know,” she says, stretching languidly.  “Today we call in sick.  Tomorrow she’s selling heroin to retirees.  It’s so much pressure, being a good mom.”  She frowns.  “Okay, but now I have a worry.”

“About being a good mom?”

“No,” she says.  “I’ve passed through the Happy phase, and I’ve entered Paranoia.  Why isn’t she awake?”

He gives her a squeeze.  “It’s fine!” he says.  “She slept almost this long on Tuesday.”

Pam sighs and leans into him.  “We laughed at those video monitors, but now I totally wish we had one.  Actually, I now think it would be nice to have a video feed of her, wherever she is, for the rest of her life.  How do we arrange that?” 

“We convince her that people are making a documentary about her,” says Jim.  “Or… we could stop worrying and be opportunists.”

-----

His fingers skim down her tanktop, find the edge of her pajama bottoms, and help her out of them. 

Her body surprises her sometimes.  It’s still slack in places, but it’s nearly hers again: the shape and contours she remembers.  And when they do this, when he touches her this way, any leftover self-consciousness evaporates.  She is just Pam.

Even the last few weeks she was pregnant, Jim could make her feel weightless.  His hands cup beneath her, scoop her towards him, and his breath glows through her.  A kiss, a pause, a slide…  She pushes a strand of hair away from her face, lets her hand continue up and close on the corner of the pillow beneath her head as the tension twists tighter in her, coiling in her belly.  It won’t take long, which is a good thing, this morning.

A few minutes later, she feels her back curving up off the warm sheets, and she is flying.

-----

Cecelia’s eyes are just opening when they go in half an hour later.  She blinks, her little feet kicking away the last fold of what, at bedtime, had been one of Jim’s best swaddling efforts.  “Good morning, beetle!” says Pam, lifting her out of the bassinette. 

“Such awesome sleeping!” says Jim, letting the baby’s fingers close around his finger.  “Didn’t you hear that infants are supposed to be up all night?”

“Shhh!” says Pam, sitting down in the glider.  “She missed the memo, I’m okay with that.”