Six weeks
Dear MrMan,
Today, you are six weeks old. Is it as hard for you to believe as it is for me? As your great aunt would say, "Can you imagination?"
I continue to marvel at you. Your absolute perfection (complete with cradle cap and baby acne). That I helped create you. That I carried you for nine-plus months. That you're more than parts of me and parts of your dad put together. That you're you, with your own personality. Because you're such your own little person, sometimes I forget how young you are. But then I hit my forehead and rush to get a blanket to swaddle you, because you are still calmed by such things, despite being fiercely independent. In a dependent kind of way.
You continue to educate me and your father in your ways. You've recently become more interactive, sometimes smiling at things we do, like kissing you to pieces. You coo on the phone.
You've also developed a recent interest in whistling. This is just another example of your seeming like of music. The hand bells seemed to be your favorite part of your first church experience, last weekend. You handled that whole outing quite well, by the way.
Your other, continued, interests include:
MILK: all in caps, of course, to try to depict your love, whether consumed via the boob or the bottle (though we don't do the latter much).
Sweat sandwiches: the closer you can smoosh with us, the better. I'm not always a fan of the layer of sweat that builds between us, but it's growing on me, and I find that I even miss it if there's too much time between sandwiches.
Staring at the paper lanterns and tree in the living room, among other things
I watch you connect with prayers when I say them aloud. It's amazing how calm you become and your eyes grow wide as you hear the words of God. I guess eyes really are the windows to the soul.
You're good at working your way into our bed, usually with some sob story of how congested you are ;) Mind you, it's from the cosleeper right next to me. But I guess we can offer you a more upright position. And nuzzling, of course.
In the past week, you've become a little more comfortable at spending moments alone. I can actually leave the room for a few minutes without your becoming agitated. My bladder welcomes this. As does my stomach. Your maturation is also apparent in your increasing comfort with sleeping on your back. Yes, it's true: despite my profession, I put you down on your stomach, if you've fallen asleep with your weight in that direction. It just reduces your likelihood of startling awake. And you now actually have the strength to lift your neck enough to change your head position while on your stomach. But, as I said, you're doing better with the back thing. I guess the curled-up position of the womb is becoming a more distant memory.
In addition to seeing your changes, I'm seeing the changes in myself, as a result of having you in my life:
I actually used a public changing table, after years of fearing them. It helped that you had a very full diaper and that I had a disposable changing pad to shield you from the cooties, but still....
I've said, "Luckily, most of his puke ended up in my underwear." A funny story for another time.
I've also been happy that your explosive poop ended up mostly on my shirt, instead of a multitude of other places, as I was bathing you in the kitchen.
I wear your slug trail of drool on my shirt as a badge of honor.
My love, I teeter on the brink of wanting you to stay just as you are, and feeling like I can't wait to meet the person you become (and see what your eye color - which even the pediatrician, who's seen tons of baby eyes, deemed interesting - settles on). Luckily, it's out of my hands and you're progressing just as you're supposed to.
Love,
Mommy
Posted by Shokufeh at December 30, 2005 12:06 PM