this pair of photographs has nothing to do with anything other than it's the sort of thing i am bound to stumble upon when i am eighty, and weep. i cannot believe how big he is. but also: how small. i cannot believe he's already been with us for four months. but also: only.
haven't i always been lost in those curious, bright, brown-ringed-in-blue eyes? haven't i always known the sensation of his fingers combing my waist as he nurses? haven't i spent every night of my life clinging his tiny body to mine, singing the same song that i have since the morning he was born, and before? haven't we always been together?
if i could have a newly born baby in my home at all times, for the rest of time, i would. i haven't known, i doubt exists, purer joy or deeper peace than what he has brought with him. heaven has never felt closer.
these really are the days.