Before I forget

Auggie is 8 months and 3 weeks old. Yesterday he was 3 months and 8 days old. Or so I thought. He can pick up and eat soggy cheerios, clap his hands, do funny things because he knows it makes us laugh, and though he may not be crawling he can certainly move around enough to get himself into precarious situations. More and more he tells us that he's mad or annoyed, that he's bored with the same old toy or that he really won't just sit and play while I do just one more thing.

He spent most of the last 2 weeks with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. I'm not sure if that feels good, if it's related to all the teeth starting to poke through his gums, or if he just forgets to pull it back in.

I just put him down for a nap. It was a rare moment of stillness for a very active little body. His sleeping face was peaceful and smooth and perfect. For a few minutes I considered staying there with him in my arms, letting his warm body sink into mine and his head rest against my chest. It reminded me of the countless hours I spent with him asleep on my chest while I lounged in bed, resting, reading (more likely watching "tv" on my computer). He'd be sprawled, frog-legged over my belly, his head heavy and cheeks puffed, listening to my heart beat. Every so often his neck would stiffen, rearing backwards, chin in the air, lips pursed like a fish. He'd crane and twist, stretch and wrinkle his face, and eventually fall back into his "pillows," never opening his eyes. Today I wondered if I'd always remember what it felt like to be someone's pillow, someone's absolute source of comfort.