If there's one thing I envy, it's the sight of a mother or father waking their baby. In fact, I think I could pinpoint the profound change I experienced as a result of becoming a mother on this moment: waking up (with or without a headache, with or without a hangover, having slept well or badly, on a clear day or a rough one) with joy. While my children were little, every awakening was magnificent. I would go—almost run—to their room, silently watch them sleep, enjoying that feeling of absolute peace I've never found anywhere else, and then I would devote myself to the wonderful task of waking them up: touching their soft, warm skin, placing my hand on their chest to let the rise and fall of the rise and fall of the rise and fall of the rise, one fine day, in a voice that I don't know where it came from and that I've never recovered.