Same table as yesterday. This time a couple just started on their journey, not sixty years, less than six, I’d guess. A hooded basinet, back to me so I cannot see the baby it contains. I ask the age. Four months. Is this the first? They nod. It’s not yet 9 o’clock, the mother’s eyebrows neatly penciled black, the father wide awake, ecstatic with eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. They think the battle has been won, she now sleeps the whole night through. I smile and do not talk about the times they’ll lie awake at night in 18 years.