For the past week, I’ve been spending most of the day lounging around with Luc, my seven-month-old grandson. We hang out on the bed a lot (since this apartment is not fully baby-proofed). I hold on to his ankle as he crawls around. When he gets too close to the edge, I pull him back. He likes to throw himself backward onto me, or put his face right into mine, where we look into each other’s eyes. It’s intimate and sweet, and I feel very much like I imagine orangutan moms must feel. He’s totally safe with me, and we are totally flexible with each other. Easy days, as I use my lifelong knowledge to take great care of him, and he uses his amazing intelligence to figure out how the world works. Soon he’ll also understand what the edge of the bed means, but not because he got dropped on his head. I keep a firm grip on that ankle.