Sweet Daniel James.

In the weeks of the pandemic, I find peace in the ritual of rocking my son to sleep every night. We have our routine: fleecy pajamas and our sturdy white rocking chair. I sing Sweet Baby James , the James Taylor classic, once, sometimes twice, always sure to change the chorus to "Sweet Daniel James". He falls asleep cradled against me, mouth open, milky breath on my face. For that moment we are both replete and calm and irrevocably safe. I recite the song like a prayer, even when my throat is dry and raw from yelling through a mask all day, or when I'm so tired I nod off over the second verse.