A cliche about parenthood: It teaches you to surrender the plan. My rigidity is above-average. It borders on OCD. Eight quarters for a coffee, every morning. Have the train ticket clutched in one fist at least six minutes before the conductor passes by. Read at least twenty pages before your on-train nap. Buzz in to work at 7:47, and not sooner, because that minute that extends from 7:46 to 47 is your time. My baby sometimes has Linda-Blair-in- Exorcist moments without warning. The river of spit-up will just emerge from the calm, quiet infant. Multiple orifices--nostrils, mouth. Then, he who was Buddha-esque becomes hysterical. Shrieking sobs, red face. Or I'll find myself gently folding back rolls of baby fat to insert healing ointment in a neck-crevice; the milk dribbled from the lips has gathered in the crevice and caused a red streak. Just not an activity I ever imagined for a Monday afternoon. Walking Salvy was--for a while--a big affair, with a stroller and a ...