Morning ritual

Each morning runs into the next. Around 2am or 4:30am, somewhere in between he wakes up. By now I've become an expert with which grunts mean he's about to cry. I pick up his tiny, long gangly body, reminding me once again half awake how precious and infant he is. Moments like this I cherish, and being half awake the realization of being a mother crashes down on me hard. The heaviness of it.

His legs kick in anticipation in the bassinett. More and more each day his body grows out of the tiny newborn stage to a very long, increasingly heavier infant body. Now Atticus takes up my whole lap and sits up while I feed him. Afterwards he satisfies his constant need to suck by sticking his favorite toy giraffe in his mouth. Atticus actually holds his giraffe tight against him, gripping him and moving him along with his reflexive jerks. He's already interested in toy animals, a stage I never grew out of. My bunny Hazel resembling the worn velveteen rabbit is testament to that. Everyday most hours are spent feeding Atticus. Unfortunately this has made my journaling and blogging suffer. So many initial details have been lost and he's growing too fast. I love these days with him, where I prop him up on his boppy while I do housework and he sits there watching me. I know he can only slide down, but that is the extent of his attempts at getting away. I don't want this to change yet- our days together I can carry him along like an extension of me. I will cry when I'm not able to lug him around and he runs away, discovering his surroundings himself. I know this is selfish, but time is going too fast. When I am offered a job eventually we'll never have this daily bonding again. Atticus' eyes only follow where I am. He's so attached and spends every waking hour with me. But today I can still hold Atticus and experience that rush of love when he peers up at my face in wonder and appreciation. Fin.