I’m becoming more and more used to being some one’s mother and reveling ever more in being his. He’s becoming more and more some one, more and more himself. He can make lots of little noises to talk to me in between silence and screaming. His little eyes, still blue, can focus now. There are joyful little milestones that slowly unfold him like a love note where each word reveals a great, new meaning. I see him starting to truly see the world. Not that where I came from required fleeing, but it is certain that there’s no going back. I felt like a refugee in a foreign land: disoriented, a little fearful, but infinitely grateful to be in this new place. I learned to feed him and clothe him and bathe him and every step felt like learning the customs of a new culture. My body ached from the business of bringing him out of it and into this world, but we walked circles and circles at two in the morning anyway until he finally fell asleep in my arms.
He cried mostly at night and his little bleating calls filled up my whole consciousness.
His tiny arms and legs moved without intention and his little blue eyes opened rarely and only to stare out at the world as though being awoken was a mild disturbance. We spent his first four days at the hospital, as per French habit/regulation. He slid in after a cool four hours of labor, weighing seven pounds four ounces and measuring 19.7 inches. He came into this world at 8:59 in the morning on November 16 of last year. This is his first ever photo, taken by his papa perhaps an hour after his arrival.
0 kommentar(er)
