Dominic is one month old today. It's one of those time frames that has flown and inched all at the same time. It's a 24 hour gig, so I feel every hour. But the hours have become more joy filled and less anxiety filled. My little boy is a wonderful communicator and has taught me what his different signals mean. I can now shift my appreciation to his slate-blue eyes that more and more often lock with mine, or his little milk-laced tongue that shoots in and out of his mouth after eating. And as crazy as it sounds, I've grown to enjoy the 1 am feedings. It's so quiet and peaceful, dimly lit, and sweet. My baby has kindly grown to sleeping good chunks of night time, so we only get up once a night (most of the nights, knock on wood...).
I've especially loved getting to witness this new little being experience everything for the first time. He has become a pro at transitioning from the bath to the towel Dad holds open for him. The first exit from the warm water was with a panicked screeching of a poor baby who had never felt the immediate cold rush to wet skin. Today he made me laugh with another first. My friend Danielle has asked me if he's learning that his hands belong to himself yet. Until now, I said, I'm not sure. Now I can say, no, he still has no idea where these hands come from or who controls them. Today, as he lay on the couch swimming away with all four limbs, he reach up and grabbed a fist full of his own dark duck-feathery-hair, and then squealed. Someone was pulling his hair! The hand did not let go, so he squealed again. Finally the hand released, and he looked at me.
I'm looking forward to the hand-discovery, because I fear he thinks I might be the one always smacking him in the face, and now pulling his hair.
