blur of sleepless nights, endless cuddles, a few tears, lots of wails,
adorable smiles, and messy clothes (on both our parts—sorry for the poop
on your head that one time). I love seeing my reflection in your eyes
when you’re nursing, and sometimes when I look at you I can imagine you
years from now all grown up. You grip my finger so tight sometimes that I
can’t bear to pull away. Every fiber in my being melts when you smile
at me; I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.
One month ago today, your mother and I hopped/waddled into the car to head to the hospital. Seven. Teen. Point. Five. Hours. Later. You were born. I’m not saying that you took your sweet time, but seriously. It was a reallllly long day.
The last month has been a constant puzzle with you. Every time you cry, we immediately try to figure out what is the dealio. Are you hungry? Tired? Did you poop? Are you about to poop? Do you smell something off? Is it too loud? Too hot? Too cold? Are you hungry? Do you not like your outfit? If I can’t figure out what’s wrong with you, you flash the single most saddest-looking face in the whole wide world (fun fact: every time I see that sad face, I promise you a pony. You’re up to 27). When you simmer down you turn into this cute little nine-pound ball of cutie patootie.
Every time you smile, it’s pretty much the most amazing thing in the whole wide world. I can’t wait ’till you’re old enough to catch the giggles from me.