And I was right. I did need more joy.
This joy I imagined was a bells pealing, choirs singing kind of joy, like in the Christmas song "Joy to the World."
Heaven and nature, I imagined, would sing.
I imagined that, with this joy in my life, laughter would ring through the halls of my house. A general giddiness would prevail.
But now I have joy...
And joy, it turns out, is Champ leaning her head against my cheek.
It's a quiet house and a full baby at three a.m.
It's Moose licking tiny baby feet.
It's a coo. A gummy smile.
It's spit-up on my sleeve. A foot nestled in the curve of my arm. Watching her watch the trees. The grasp of tiny fingers around my thumb.
It's the delight on my parents' faces when they look at her. Bath time. The miracle of rolling over.
A sleepy sigh.
Joy, it turns out, is a quiet thing.