But I wish she hadn't learned the Croc-O-Crunch theme song. "Croc-O-Crunch for the hungry bunch, it's the one we munch" is an insidious earworm.

Dear Mary,

You're old enough to read this, but possibly not old enough to understand it yet. I think. Sometimes I wonder at how much is going on inside your brain, usually just before a loud noise happens. I'd blame that on your father's genes, but your Grandpa Jim would disagree with me, at length. That's what grandfathers do.

You know how much your father and I love you, and I think you're starting to grasp how much we worry about you, too. The ordinary parental fears that come with a sometimes hyperactive child who keeps overcoming whatever protections we put in your way. The more complicated fears that have to do with whose daughter you are, and your connection to your Grandfather Bruce.

But if there's one thing I've learned over the years, especially from your Aunt Dinah, it's that you can't always protect the people you love, even when you're trying your best. But we'll keep trying, Peanut, and part of trying is teaching you how to protect yourself. At least, that's what I keep telling myself, and your father.

Now, if you can just avoid giving either of your aging parents a heart attack before you turn 18, that would be very much appreciated.

Love, Mom

The contractors just finished working on the new pool. There are times I'm glad to be married to a rich man; so many custom requests are shrugged off because "the rich are just eccentric." Never mind that I grew up in a blue-collar neighborhood.

Now, if the world would just calm down long enough so that I could get to work in the pool....

If he didn't insist on these ... back when Mary was still breastfeeding, Babs had occasionally entertained the thought of what would happen if Batman called during mealtime. Unfortunately, it was a short performance; his reaction would've still been, "Oracle. Status report."

Still, she's managed to keep some control over her schedule by calling him herself rather than waiting to be ambushed. Which is probably what he wanted her to do in the first place. The man was a master of practical psychology, after all.

"Oracle here."

Babs would've fed Mary herself, but the youngest Grayson is (unsurprisingly) insistent that she be allowed to feed herself. So instead of being cuddled in her mother's arms for dinner, Mary is very proudly sitting in her high chair and delicately picking up English peas, popping them one by one into her mouth. Every once in a while she breaks into a big grin, proud of herself.

"I wonder how long she'll willingly eat her vegetables?" Babs asks Dick.

Oracle's internal clock is lying to her. When she checks the clock display on her screen, she knows that it's been less than half an hour since she spoke to Nightwing, but subjective time is, by its very nature, deceptive. It's only been hours, not days, since she's seen her daughter in person. It's only been hours, not weeks, since Light first made his demands.

And now it's only going to be seconds, not minutes, before she can reasonably expect Nightwing to come home with their baby.

I want to send sputum cultures and blood samples to Mid-Nite, Brainiac-5, Mr. Terrific--anyone.

I want to call Diana and demand if this is the best Artemis can do.

I want to find whoever cooked this up and make him pay for what he's done.

I want to crawl into a corner and howl for a few hours.

I hold her, and it's all she can do to keep breathing sometimes. She doesn't even want to open her eyes when it's bad.

I'm not sure which scares me more: when she's crying or when she's quiet.

( Oracle's eyes only )

Dick is supposed to be resting. I have ordered him to rest, which works exactly not very well at all, as anyone who knows him can tell.

Mary, however, has decided that her father should be spending his time with her instead. Poor man.

Tomorrow's Mary's birthday. I can't believe it's been a year. Sometimes it feels like she just slid out into the world yesterday. Other days, it seems like she's always been a part of our lives.

I was afraid that Dick wouldn't be back home in time. No, of course I didn't think he'd deliberately miss his daughter's birthday, but I'm a cop's daughter. Dad had to miss his share of my birthdays, and I never thought it was because he didn't love me.

Mar'i's visiting, and she offered to babysit for us today while we take a little time for ourselves. A very little time, I suspect, given the arrangements we want to make for her party tomorrow. At least we aren't getting too many members of the press surrounding the Clocktower right now, though I think that has more to do the state of 'Haven roads than it does with the fourth estate's sense of propriety.

Time to finish getting dressed and spend some time with my husband. It's been too long.

( Oracle's eyes only )

Care to guess how a former child star manages to perform an ippon seoinage that's a dead ringer for the one used by the original Black Canary?

First two don't count.

My stepdaughter's currently sleeping in her room, but I'm not sure how long that will last. We're coming up on Mary's regular morning shouting time. My daughter has a very healthy pair of lungs, and for some reason she's decided that the last hour before lunch is exercise time. She isn't screaming: just being very, very loud. I think she's playing with the acoustics in each room, because I've caught her scrambling between the kitchen and the living room, in one room calling out "DADADADADA," waiting until the echoes die down, and then going to the other room and repeating the performance.

I hope Mar'i will be all right. Dick filled me in while she was getting cleaned up, and I pulled together a briefing for him. Not as complete as if it'd been a JLA mission, but I got a few comments from Dinah to round things out. Dinah was glad to hear she and Mid-Nite aren't all that's left of the JSA, and said she'd see about swinging by here some time after everything's settled at the Brownstone.

Ah. Shouting time's starting early today.

Funny thing, surfing. Sometimes I'm as prone to following odd tangents as the next Wikipedia user. This time around, I was sifting through reported homicides elsewhere in the country, seeing if I could find any similarities to the gang hits here in the Gotham/Bludhaven area.

I haven't found any of those, but I did uncover some strange deaths in Kansas that need further investigation. Not from a distance. Up close and personal.

Time for the Birds to take flight.

Seemed like a good idea at the time. What better way to get the widest possible recommendation of children's books than through one of the librarian mailing lists? Okay, so I'm primarily a lurker there. Okay, so I haven't worked as a librarian in a while.

Amazing how the traffic on a mailing list doesn't really change that much. Same old topics keep circulating. Censorship, censorship and the Patriot Act, dealing with patrons who remind us that they pay our salaries (and the latest round of recommendations on how to cope with that), street people, religious fanatics who think that public libraries are appropriate places to preach The End Is Nigh, the role of computers and the internet in a library, idiots who complain that "too much" of their tax dollars go for library support ... I need to talk to Dick about us writing a nice big anonymous check to the 'Haven library. Or just a big check, and a few boxes of books they need very badly.

Happy birthday, te'sorthene.

I know your shoulder and knee are still hurting, so we'll make it a quiet birthday. Just you, me, Mary, and that cake I promised you. Plus your other presents.

I love you, Dick Grayson. Every day, every year, I realize how lucky I am to love and be loved by you.

We've got it down to a routine. Dick comes in, needing rest and meds, and he's bad about both of them. Gypsy tries to sit on his chest, which he protests, not so much because of pain but because she blocks his view of America's Most Wanted.

I've given up on hiding the remote control. He looks too pathetic ... and with him out of commission, that pretty much leaves me to take care of Mary right now. So let him solve a few more cases while he's supposed to be resting. It's easier than finding new places to hide a 4 x 1 hunk of plastic.

New part of the routine: Mary being confused about why Daddy doesn't want to play with her. Of course, Daddy does want to play with her, but Daddy dislocated his shoulder (again) and has bruises over three-quarters of his body (again). This means Daddy cannot demonstrate somersaults and handstands to her, and Daddy isn't really up to wrestling with her at diaper- or bathtime. About the only father-daughter time they get together is when they're both so exhausted they just end up falling asleep on the couch together.

That's incredibly cute, I should add. I need to get a picture some time. Mary's getting more of her own face now, and she's definitely taking after her daddy.

As busy as I am, I'm glad we're a family.

Thank you, Dinah.

Don't hate her, love.

God, what am I going to tell Leslie? Or Selina?

Hang in there, B.

( Authorized access only )

Sometimes it's the little things, like him filling up the washer fluid and changing the oil in my SUV. Sometimes it comes in the form of a Cray computer and a pair of silk stockings with garter belt.

It's always wonderful when he reminds me why we're married.