Baby, it's Cold Outside
Some of you may already know I'm in New York this week, visiting my sister who, four weeks ago this Wednesday, gave birth to a boy - Nash Caleb Kirkland. My trip had been planned for a few weeks, but the timing had not; she was a few weeks late, so we expected Nash to be a little older when I visited, a little more able to travel, a little more able to focus, a little more able to realise that I was a new person. Instead, he was three weeks old when I arrived. His belly button hadn't yet fallen off (the things they don't tell you) and he could only make out shapes and colours, barely focusing anywhere in between feeds, sleeps and nappy changes.
What a difference a week makes - because this week Nash is almost entirely alert. He sleeps for longer but when he's awake he's more awake. It's an amazing thing to see, this growth, in just a week. In adulthood we don't change much from one year to the next, save for haircuts and weight loss or gain, but babies seem to change hugely from one moment to the next.
I have nothing to say that doesn't sound twee or ridiculous; he's amazingly adorable. I love him more than I ever expected to; I love holding him until he falls asleep and I can feel his little baby breaths on my cheek; I love watching him sleep, soother in mouth, sucking ferociously in the most instinctual of fashions; I love hearing him cry, a cry that sounds like a mixture between a laugh and a lamb bleating. And I don't even like kids that much.
(Still, I realise, as I clean and cook and run to the local shop, that I can't have any children of my own now; my sister will never be able to give up a fortnight to come wait on me. Oh well! I'll have to settle for being Nash's cool spinster aunt instead.)