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Send me a picture of the formula can so I get the right stuff.
He took a picture, sent it, and then picked up the baby.
He couldn’t remember any of the songs that the note had said the baby liked, except for one. He started to sing it.
Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!
Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine!
Heir of salvation, purchase of God,
Born of His Spirit, washed in His blood.
To his surprise, even before the bottle touched her lips, the baby stopped crying and her big, dark eyes, so blue they almost looked black, looked up at him, blinking.
Nice. But the moment he stopped singing, her face scrunched up again, prompting him to start again immediately. If it would keep her from crying, he would sing all night.
This is my story, this is my song,
Praising my Savior all the day long;
This is my story, this is my song,
Praising my Savior all the day long.
He managed to get the bottle in her mouth. She had been mesmerized looking at his face, listening to his voice, maybe even feeling the vibrations of his chest, but after a second or two, she realized what was in her mouth. She shook a little, and then her mouth closed around the nipple and she started sucking greedily. He kept singing just because she liked it, and he did too. He swayed a little as he sang.
Perfect submission, perfect delight,
Visions of rapture now burst on my sight;
Angels, descending, bring from above
Echoes of mercy, whispers of love.
Perfect submission, all is at rest,
I in my Savior am happy and blest,
Watching and waiting, looking above,
Filled with His goodness, lost in His love.
This is my story, this is my song,
Praising my Savior all the day long;
This is my story, this is my song,
Praising my Savior all the day long.
He didn’t know whether he’d sung the song fifty or a hundred times before he heard a car in the driveway.
By that time, he’d gone in the living room and sat down on the recliner. He hadn’t put his feet up but had kept them on the floor, rocking back and forth. Alice stopped sucking the bottle when there was still half an ounce or so left, and checking the instructions, he realized he was supposed to burp her. He searched that on the Internet and watched a video, never stopping his song.
When she burped, she spit formula all over his shoulder. He hadn’t thought to have any kind of rag on it, but after watching the video, he’d realized spitting was kind of normal. He wasn’t sure exactly how much was normal, but a couple of the babies that he’d seen on the video had spit up whenever they burped as well.
That made sense to him, but it was one of the questions he wanted to ask Ellen when she came—how much spit-up was normal.
