I do find myself thinking about my wee baby blog and how it's growing, in public but unnoticed. How would anyone find his way here? Blundering. Oopsing. It's a back alley baby blog. An alley cat blog. An alley cat's footprint on the battered lid of a garbage pail. Scratches on the left lens of an bent pair of dark glasses. The hoar on the snout of the hound sniffing your baby in her blue stroller. The silt of tea at the bottom of the cup after the tea bag has been laid on the saucer. What saves you. What sips at the lobe of an ear. A spark clinging to ash as the draft lifts the ash, turns and tears it. Written on the back of an envelope. Grabby, hands sticky, nails ragged. Twin trails of snot on the upper lip. "He’s never liked anyone, including me, touching his hands and, sometimes, even his feet.”