People speak of newborns as perfect, and that is the word that comes to my fingers, but I don’t think we mean aesthetic perfection when we describe the wrinkled, raw strangeness of a newborn child. Instead, we mean perfect in the biblical sense: complete, whole, lacking nothing. A tiny human being, each detail intricately formed, emerging into our hands with soul and mind and heart already beating. Perfect, like the whole of the world at the dawn of creation. Here anew, with us.