time slows down when you have a newborn in your arms.
my days are full of newborn baby smells. milk. poops. fresh laundry. sour milk pukes. the freshest, most fragrant skin on earth. breastmilk breath.
also, newborn baby textures. soft skin. tiny, downy hairs. milk letdowns. wet puke puddles in my hair, on my pyjamas, in my bed. a soft body sharing patches of warmth on my arms, belly, breasts, face.
sounds. 'mm-mm-mm-mm' as he nurses. tiny, short breaths stitched like thread across the space between us. grunts. squirts. burps.
beauty. his eyes, skin cheeks, hair sworls, feet, bum, flexible ears, tummy, and nape are fascinating visions of perfect, ethereal beauty. he's so beautiful that i can't sleep. all i want to do is watch him.
when his brothers are here, and awake, and their perfectly abundantly noisy selves, it feels crazy chaotic, but with an undercurrent of peace. smell my baby. he's the answer to the search for world peace. bring me armies, one by one--one breath each of baby newness and war will be finished.
so my days are filled with deep breaths of baby, warm cuddles, feedings, and baby gazing.
love, love, love.