Something is in the air. What is that I smell? Is it…*sniff, sniff*…HOPE? By golly, I think that’s it. Go figure.
For the past several days, Seabass has been a brilliant, stupendous, fantastic, bodacious little fishy. Between a combination of him getting older, getting more sleep, and allowing me to sleep, we are contentedly moving toward being hopelessly in love with one another. And I couldn’t be happier about it.
Allow me to lend some of my hope to those of you out there on the WWW who have a righteously tough, colicky baby to care for:
He coos. He giggles. He smiles with his whole body. He squeals with delight and plays weird little games we’ve made up together. He even lets me rock him to sleep. No, seriously. He does.
Folks, I never thought this day would come. I literally pictured myself trying to keep an 11-year-old Seabass from crying by doing squats with him in the Baby Bjorn. But at 14 weeks, our little guy has suddenly turned a corner, slowly becoming the baby I always imagined.
If ever there was an onus of expectation on a new mother, it is that she would be automatically bonded to her baby the moment he or she enters the world. That’s a tall order, and it can wreak havoc on a woman who doesn’t actually feel all that connected to the writhing, screaming, slimy little purple lump she’s handed at birth. Don’t get me wrong: I was over the moon when they handed Seabass to me. I had been looking forward to meeting him all my life. And I loved him instantly. But I didn’t feel like I knew him when he was born. How could I? How often had I met a new person who couldn’t talk – could only howl – and felt profoundly connected? Never.
But now, nearly everything has changed. Jake feels it too. When Seabass wakes up in the morning, he entertains himself in the crib for up to 20 minutes while we lay like corpses in bed, trying to eke out a few more moments of unconsciousness. To greet the day by seeing his shining little happy face is far better than drinking the strongest cup of coffee. To watch him learn how to grasp at toys and almost roll over is more entertaining than watching any movie. And to see how fast he’s growing (95th percentile for weight, people) is like watching time-lapse photography. It’s baffling and beautiful. I wish I’d known it was all just around the corner when I sat crying with Seabass in my arms on the exercise ball for all those hours.
Here’s to grace unexpected.