Sam,

Yesterday morning, you wouldn't take a nap. You were fussing and fussing, drooling and chewing on your fists, so I assumed that your gums were bothering you too much for you to sleep. It was too early for music to be playing on our radio station, so I played some CD's for you and sat in front of the computer with you in my lap.

An email from a friend told me to turn on the television. I obeyed, and we sat in front of the screen, watching quietly as the World Trade Center burned and crumbled.

You won't remember this, of course.

Newscaster after newscaster came onto our screen, not knowing what to say about the horror and yet doing their best to explain the inexplicable. Several people - we didn't and don't know whom yet - had stolen some airplanes and crashed them into the Twin Towers. When we turned it on, the buildings were burning, but the worst was yet to come. As you fussed in my lap, I watched in silence as the first tower crashed to the ground. I hurriedly disconnected the computer and ran to call your grandmother, who was just getting out of the shower. Then I called your other grandmother, who was already watching the news. While I was talking to her, you finally fell asleep on your blanket on the floor.

You awoke when I hung up the phone, and I held you on my lap as the other tower fell. I cried while you babbled at the television. You were happier, having slept, and blissfully unaware of your uniqueness of mood. The newscaster frowned, and you giggled.

Naturally, you won't remember. You also won't remember watching the Pentagon burn, or your mommy's shocked reaction at hearing a false rumor that a plane had crashed at Camp David, not terribly far from Grandma's house.

We went to the library, which had opened up in the new building for the first time that morning. I didn't want to be alone anymore, even though your dad and I had been talking on the phone frequently most of the morning. Your gums must have been hurting again, for you screamed and screamed. We sat in front of the library's television while you cried and I tried to nurse you. You were inconsolable, possibly due to a combination of your pain and the tension of the world about you. It seemed fitting. I tried to comfort you anyway.

There are so very many babies fussing today whose mothers and fathers can't be there to rock them or soothe their pains. I'm trying not to think about that.

You won't remember any of this, any of this at all, and that relieves me greatly. I know too many mothers who right now are trying to think of ways to explain this to their little boys and girls, trying to find ways to calm the nightmares. You slept in relative peace last night, unaware of men who kill other people because of their country. Countries, religions, and even airplanes and skyscrapers are concepts which haven't yet reached you.

Thank God.

Nobody I know personally has been directly affected by the catastrophe yet. I do have several cousins in the military, so there's the possibility that I'll see them sent off to fight back. For now, I'm feeling very, very lucky.