For Spencer

Dear little man-cub, I am really starting to like you. I've loved you since you were born. Deeply. Reverently. I've treasured your tininess. I've felt protective of and responsible for you.

But now that my body doesn't feel quite so battered, and our life together feels a tad more settled - like, we occasionally (well, twice....and I'm keeping my fingers crossed) get four-five hours of sleep at a time, I'm really starting to feel squishy and giddy inside about you.

And...

???????

I hardly know what else I should write.

You're just a baby. You do baby things. You eat and sleep and cry. You necessitate that we keep a bottle of Oxi-Clean spray on the bathroom counter at all times. You're predictably happy when you're eating, irritable when you're tired. You smell good after a bath. (Although, I must admit, my dirty little piglet, that baths are not a nightly ritual for you like they were for your big sis. Opportunity cost, you understand.) You like to be held and bounced, rocked and wrapped.

I guess, to everyone else, you must seem pretty normal.

But no one else sees how handsome your deep eyes look as they penetrate the 2am darkness of our living room.

No one else sees the way you cock one curious eyebrow up whenever our eyes connect during a feeding.

No one else has so often sacrificed feeling in their wrist to singlehandedly keep your snugly wrapped little glow-worm body in a comfortable position while the other hand makes lunch, rinses dishes, puts together puzzles, and types blog posts.

Lucy, two minutes ago, approaching me with her baby, "Mom, will you wrap her up?
Mom, "I'm holding your brother, honey. Can you please do it?"
Lucy, "Mom, I have an idea! Maybe you can hold Spencer with one hand and help me wrap my baby with the other hand."
Good idea, Lu. Good idea.

No one else has been so often mesmerized by the fixed, zoned expression you wear just before falling asleep.

No one else hears your soft, throaty coos first thing in the morning (oh, those quiet sounds! Why do I love them so?! Maybe because their softness is such a contrast to the shrill screams and demanding cries you are capable of and so often communicate with. Or maybe because they come with such seeming effort and concentration on your part. Whatever the reason, they are music to my ears.)

And certainly no one else spends so many minutes of every day making silly faces and noises, hoping for a glimpse of your sweet smile (well, maybe Lucy comes close). And while you still make us work for it, that smile is sneaking out more and more every day.

Keep it coming, sweet little man-cub, keep it coming!