Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Extreeeeeeeme baaaaaaby!

far away.

Sometimes I just can't bring myself to believe that Miss Baby is real. How could I have got so lucky as to have my very own little tiny daughter, with perfect fingers and toes and a nose and that milky smell and that little breathy gurgle?

To reassure myself of her facticity, at least once or twice a day, I lift her up so that we are nose to nose and we rub our faces together while I say, "Extreeeeeme baaaaaby," owing to she's so very very close to me. Her eyes look huge and she usually slobbers on me or tries to eat my nose and she smells like milk and her fingers clutch and pull at my hair and her little feet wiggle against my tummy. I laugh. She laughs.

She's real. My baby. But I just like to make sure.

so close.

1 comment:

Alpha Dogma said...

Sometimes (usually after a frantic and intense round of familial visits) I think that my sons are celebrities who have blessed me with their very presence. I feel so lucky. Like I won the lottery. Which I guess I did when you think about the randomness of fertility issues.

And I hope I don't sound all stalkerish, but I really like the look of your house in the first photo. 15 years of watching This Old House episodes has given me appreciation of the architectual beauty of substantial window casements.