Isaac is sleeping now. I continually listen for his breathing, straining to assure myself that it is uninterupted. In and out, in and out. If I cannot hear him I watch to see his chest rise and fall, like an object floating on the surface of the water. He is restless, turning his head in his sleep and moving his arms up and down, little palm facing outward as if waiting to be filled. I love how his red mouth opens in the night, like a wordless well, those sleepy smiles coming from unrecognized dreams.

He has begun laughing more often, a deep gurgle that comes from the back of his throat. I encourage it by tickling him and making funny noises, blowing rasberries on his full stomach. His laughter becomes a trail of indistinct sounds, his way of confiding in me. He will pull his mouth from his bottle and tell me thoughts in-between sips. And then there are the noises he makes as I rock him to sleep, those soft sing-song notes, like humming only less complete. He loves it when I sing to him, his baby expressions registering delight and recognition at the sound of my voice. I read somewhere that a mother is assured that her baby will love her, and I believe it is true.


  1. You've inspired me! That is: I'm a long way from needing one of those landscape-sized scrap books, but the collecting bug has struck. I got a catalog I have to show you -- it's called 'Peruvian Connection' and it's like 'Free People', only in this case, besides having awesome photos, I'd probably wear most of what they sell (if I could afford it). I've already snagged the first page -- one of these day's I'll learn how to make my own patterns, and then I'm sewing one of these dresses for Hannah!

    Are all mamas as poetic as you? :)


( hippies always welcome )