The deepest love is felt at night, when your precious one is at last asleep. Bitty baby breaths barely sing small songs of slumber while you, the parent, can finally rest. Temporary tranquility rules the nest as your gaze falls upon a countenance calm and content.
Infants are easy in theory, harder in practice. Fussy fits frazzle. But the coos, the smiles and tiny old man grunts sweep away the distress. Each morning’s laugh redeems the night. Sleeping faces erase then banish memories of the screams. Best are the smiles on sleeping faces, they are the richest rewards of all.
What is this love which gushes forth? Tremendous torrents sweeping all aside? A bond forged fiercely, for with the sweet sensations is a powerful urge from time primordial to protect one’s offspring.
Nature prepares babies well with the innate responses of their parents to cries. Nature does not, however prepare new parents for the tasks ahead.
So, the report. She cries, poops, pees, coos, laughs, tries to roll over. A wonderfully, perfectly ordinary baby, except in the eyes of her parents and grandparents who are convinced that this is the prettiest, smartest baby ever.
Each day is a new learning experience. Her progress remarkable. More understanding each day of the world and its inhabitants.
We’ve had our share of learning experiences. Of late nights which turn into early mornings. She’s actually not too bad at night, but requires more attention during the day than the average, but not as bad as others.
My wife is doing well. I’m in awe of what she does and her good spirits. How she can go through such a rough day, then still turn around and take such joy in Anya. How lucky I am to have such a wonderful woman in my life.
Beta-chan loves her daddy’s singing, which we hope is a phase born from ignorance and not an inheritance of his acute tone deafness. Ten Little Indian Girls turns her whole face into a grin.
Each new parent says how much a baby changes your life. So true. But words fail, the pen runs dry. What can describe the work and the rewards? For far too much is contained in these so simple of sounds. “She is my daughter.”
Of yes. A few pictures. And a few more. one last. (The photosteam is here.)
And, as usual, your writing touches my heart.