My friend and I were having a chat while holding each other's babies. Isn't it funny how the weight and size and movements of your own baby are so distinct that you're SO aware that the baby you're holding isn't yours? Like if two babies were exactly the same except for one little thing and they traded places, the mothers would be able to tell.
Anyway, we were talking about the funny things strangers - particularly of the old variety - say to you when they see you holding your baby.
There's a script, really. It is literally the same thing every time.
1. "My oldest/youngest is now 28!"
2. "It goes so fast!"
3. "Wow, I've never seen a baby that bald before!"
Ok, so maybe they only say #3 to me, since my baby is somehow getting balder. Most commonly, they tell me how old their oldest or youngest is, to which I feign interest, and then tell me how fast it all goes, to which I agree.
Really though, how fast it goes! Like I said, Henny is getting balder. His little precious feathery fetal hairs are falling out and making room for the coarser (maybe blonder) hairs of real life. His baby acne is clearing up. He was looking pretty spotty for a while. I always felt like I had to apologize for it when I'd show him to someone. "This is Henry. He's got a little bit of baby acne, but it's getting better." As if strangers would think I wasn't bathing him enough or something. I feel a little nostalgic for both the baby hairs and the baby acne. The loss of both means the newborn stage is almost done, and the baby stage is about to start.
One change I'm loving loving loving is his voice. He's finding it. Each morning, he wakes up quietly, looking around, makes a single fuss for food (to which I oblige, for it has probably been several hours since he last ate, and the girls get a little tender), burps, gets his diaper changed, and gets reswaddled. Once his little limbs are comfortably bound (he seriously loves it, and always wiggles one arm up to his face), he gets talkative. He stares at the iron rungs of our bedframe, or the light coming in through the window, and coos and chatters with angels that grown-ups can't see.
I love hearing his happy voice. With some babies, it seems like the only voice you hear is their sad voice. They only make noise if it is to cry and tell you they need something. Not my kid. He gabs at those bedframe angels and smiles at anything except me. The other day I was changing his diaper and singing "Oh What a Night" by The Four Seasons and he coo'd along with me the whole time. It was one of my finest moments in these four weeks of motherhood (that, the moment he was born, obv, and the moment I decided to love breastfeeding).
Sing it, H!
If you'd like to see more absurdly cute photos of Hen (and the meals I eat, outfits I wear, and other cliche things, you can follow my instagram.