"We can do hard things," says Glennon Doyle.

Her words swim around my head as I watch a little newborn human learn to do all the hard stuff of life from the very beginning.

This Women's History Month, I've spent a lot of time with my niece and her new baby. I haven't been around an infant in about 25 years, so I'm really enjoying the wonder of it all.

Babies are the perfect mindfulness practice: all here and now. Every chirp, gurgle, grunt, coo, twitch, squirm, hiccup. The ragged breath, the tiny sneezes. Snuggling, nestling, sucking breast, bottle, finger, fist.

Every flailing arm, turning head, unintended spasm, begging for meaning, interpretation, that moment of connection, cause and effect.

The involuntary flail connects with a tinkling toy, and you can almost smell those itty bitty neurons firing. Maybe that's the source of that sweet baby scent.

Hours wile away. I'm sucked into the baby time vortex. What time is it? How long have I been staring, cooing, feeding, burping, kissing, singing, cleaning, taking in the scent of that sweet baby head? With so much joy and focus, the hours flow away.

A baby's job is to grow. To eat and sleep and play and pee and poop. To grow out of her onesie and look toward the light. Always toward the light. The hope, the joy in all her miraculous goodness.

The oxytocin burst of baby snuggles brings solace and love in the midst of these turbulent and violent times.

This little human reminds me of my place in the generations of wise and powerful women in my family and my life and around the world.

I think of the women and children in Ukraine and Syria and Afghanistan.

I think of Ketanji Brown Jackson.

I think of The Three Mothers and women and mothers everywhere.

We can do hard things.