I rock Venus with one foot as she naps. She smiles almost constantly, when awake. Soon she will learn to laugh. There is a stuffed koala she attempts to eat and hugs close, sometimes simultaneously. "Hard to Say I'm Sorry" blasts throughout our home. What I've learned over the last 12 weeks is both freeing and terrifying. In the evening I put Venus down for the night, I kiss her eyelids, and then I rinse off my responsibilities. They mix with soap and swirl around and down the drain. Gone until tomorrow. We are steering a locomotive as it rockets through outer-space and we are building the tracks as we go. There are absolutely no rules and no one has any idea what's going on. We are at the same time completely alone and inextricably linked with the other 8 billion people on this rock. And it is precisely the same as it's been since the beginning of time.