Coming home

the day home from the hospital:

After being tackled by two very excited big sisters (ouch, a little softer please!), eating a wonderful non-hospital food dinner cooked by John's mom, catching up on four days of stories and thoughts from Hailey, reading books, getting unpacked, and kissing everyone goodnight, I put little Charles down on the cushion of the couch next to me and was about to change his diaper and move on with my night, but I watched him instead.

He was awake, and pinwheeling his arms towards his face, trying desperately to get his fingers into his open mouth. First one arm, then the other. He'd reach his hand behind his ear, and slide it down his cheek, and then his hand would fly by his lips, and his head would turn, following the sailing fingers with his open mouth trying to catch them. He looked (and probably was) like someone trying for the first time to operate a crane or some complicated piece of machinery, and the exercise seemed to take every ounce of his concentration. After about five patient minutes of his systematic effort, he was rewarded by catching his index finger and thumb by his gums and sucking on them furiously. He looked satisfied.

And then he stopped sucking, and his attention was completely fixed on the back cushion of the red couch with a bright yellow blanket draped over it. His eyes darted from the cushion to the blanket. Cushion to blanket. red. yellow. red. yellow. He was completely motionless while observing, and it dawned on me that he was noticing contrast for the first time. What was he thinking? I have no idea, but he was learning something, and I watched him do it.

The Lightbulb of Understanding went off in my adult brain, and I had a new appreciation of raising a baby and being able to witness all of the "firsts." Every day a hundred little testimonies to the miracle of our bodies and spirits.

And also I can officially say

I'm In Love.

Actually, we all are.



Even Nora.