“Does babies have bones in them?” Your brother asks as you sleep. Your body is slumped across my arm, your chin resting on my bicep and arm thrown limply across. Eyes softly shut, your lashes extend as long and curvy protectors. You breathe comes in silent oscillations of your chest.
Earlier, you played foot battle with him. You kicked and pushed against him and squealed in delight. He entertained this little game for a few minutes and you whimpered as he left. (I think you might’ve been winning.) Moments later, he returned and you reached to hug him, scratching him with ever growing nails and plastering his cheek in a drool-laden kiss. He smiled. He loved it.
You babble often, sometimes intoning those conversational beginnings in mimic of your many siblings, mom, or dad. The rise and fall of your voice strikes poignant moments in yet-incoherent speech. You smile at us, for us, with us. You sit longer, your back strong and balance building. You grab and hold and manipulate anything within reach – especially cups. Your feet remain the best play things.
Too fast we’ve reached this point. I treasure each second we’ve shared.
Have you noticed how your baby turns to you when you speak? Those expressions of attentiveness are really gratifying after the many hard hours of baby care you’ve logged. A relationship that seemed rather one-sided for so long is beginning to blossom into something truly interactive.