If I didn't see this little munchkin come out of me three weeks ago with my very own eyes, I wouldn't believe that he ever fit inside of me...
Gabe also looks a little doubtful about it.
These photos pretty much sum up most of my days. Sometimes, I cook dinner. Sometimes, I do laundry. Sometimes, I go for walks. Sometimes, I clean up the apartment.
But every day, I take care of my baby. We spend lots of time on this spot on the couch - nursing, napping, playing. Although it started off with a bit of difficulty, feeding him is quickly becoming my favorite time of the day; cradling his little body as he snuggles up to me to eagerly gulp at my breast. It really is a beautiful thing. He lays so still and I get to admire how perfect my little boy is, with his long eyelashes and round cheeks and his dark, shining eyes looking up at me, his little hands grabbing on to my shirt or my neck. I love that I can nourish and comfort him. It feels so awesomely maternal. Like I was meant to do this. To take care of this perfect little being.
I'll be having a particularly mushy moment looking at my son while he's nursing, when he suddenly looks away and stops eating. He narrows his eyes, twists his neck away, and starts grunting. Annnnd, he's pooping.
(I'm not sure when his farting and pooping will stop being funny, but three weeks later - it still cracks Mike and I up when his little body makes those loud noises.)
