Not many.

Perhaps eleven across twelve months.

But they were real and they were entire days, and on those days I fed him and changed him and put him down and did every single thing correctly and did not look at his face, and my sister covered one of them without either of us ever saying what it was.

He came out at 5:41 and Linus came out at 5:42 and one of them was fine.

Sixty seconds and a piece of tissue that had already torn, and there is no reason in the world why it was that way round, and there were days in the first year when I looked at a healthy baby and something in me that I do not recognize as myself said: why him.