When I See You Smile

There's nothing like a baby's first smiles. Something clicks in that interaction. My whole perspective shifts. In the first few weeks, it's like I've been entrusted with the care of a very fragile, featherless, somewhat ugly baby bird. My sole goals are to make sure that I don't break its tiny limbs or mar its fragile person in any way and to monitor constantly its wee birdy chest to make sure that it is still breathing its quick, little birdy breaths.

Then, magically, overnight, awwwww, a baby. A big, fat, milk-filled, cuddly baby that is interactive and occasionally even somewhat pleasant. That coos at me from across the room to get my attention. My positive attention. Suddenly, I'm willing to sit in front of him and coo back for long stretches of time, to work for his precious, full-body smiles. Whereas, before the whole smiling gig, I felt more like: how can I get rid of the little alien birdish being for twenty minutes so that I can do something, ANYTHING, besides bounce it, or sway it, or - sigh - let it maw on my nipple.

Smiles. They are the difference between bird and baby. From it to he. Not a moment too soon either, because, wow, I was just about to put that little alien bird thing up for auction to the highest bidder.

You kill me, Daddy.
No, really, stop, I'm going to pee myself.

Now. Babynater, my smiley, delightful love, if we could just talk about sleeping from 8 p.m. to 11 p.m. because that is mommy's clean-up/computer/trash TV time and she needs it. She needs it.