I feel like I live my life in three-hour increments.  Daylight comes and goes.  I am still here.  Often awake.

Each feeding/diaper change is acknowledged with a glance at the clock, a mental note of how long it’s been since the last one, and how long before it’s time for another.  My baby sleeps like a little angel, mostly on my sister’s chest, while she watches The West Wing on DVD, or reads a novel.  I putter around the house, check emails, and occasionally nap.  I haven’t quite mastered the concept of “sleep when your baby sleeps”, but I am trying.  Unfortunately, he loves to get fussy during my dinnertime.  Last night we ordered in some great Indian Food and he just had to squeal and grunt and fuss throughout.  I hated it.  I wanted to tell him to shut up.  That is not a nice feeling.

But now, in the wee hours of the morning, I can really enjoy his company.  While alert, he loves to stare at the lights overhead in our living room.  He occasionally looks into my eyes and glares with innocent scrutiny.  He tends to smile only while asleep and passing gas, which is adorable.  He is, after all, only two and a half weeks old.  I try to enjoy every today, appreciate that he still weighs under 8 pounds, has the tiniest little hands, and really doesn’t have an opinion on anything yet.  He is just here, and we love him so much.