Girlfriend, you have not been an easy baby. There were the bilirubins that inexorably rose, there was the colic-that-turned-out-to-be-reflux, and there were the six weeks during which a three-hour stretch of sleep seemed like a gift from the gods. Even as I write this, I need to pause to go pick you up because this morning has been a series of five-minute nursing sessions punctuated by naps from which you awaken within twenty minutes of putting you down.
No, you have not been an easy baby, and it has been sort of hard to tell whether you are even a cute baby, since most of the first five weeks you were either yellow with jaundice or purple with screaming.
But, then, on Saturday, when I pulled you in to nurse, looking down and smiling at you because, despite it all I seem to adore you, you looked me right in the eye, and you smiled back. Your smile very clearly said, “Hi, there, Mommy. I think you are wicked awesome.” Which is good, because I think you are wicked awesome, too.
And then you turned to suck another layer of skin off of my nipple.