During night feedings our son's blue eyes are wide as quarters. They stare up at me as his small O of a mouth envelops my aureole. I look into his eyes and tell him how good his life will be. I tell him he has a mother and a father who will love and protect him with every ounce of their lives. That we will always be a family, and he will always have enough. But he is only 6 months old. He has yet to have a need unmet, to know a promise broken. And so he watches me with the steady gaze of a wise, old man. As if he has already figured out that I'm the one who's thirsty.