something to remember, to bottle in an amber glass, to etch into my bones:
mornings, we are tugged from slumber by fits of giggles and gurgles and high trills, a sunshine boy ready to meet the day. i pad the short steps from our bed to his and i reach for him, breathe him (cotton, sweet milk, sleep, boy) and feel the weight of him, one hand on his so-small back, the other cupping his diaper bum, still amazed that this is "baby," that he is here.
chris and i take turns letting each other find a wink more of sleep, but as far as francis brown is concerned, the six o'clock hour unfolds like this: we stroll 'round the block towards the only coffeehouse with lights on, then it's across the avenue to central park, where the population at this yawny hour is birds and mamas and papas and babes. bub peers upwards and out from his pram with interested eyes and a furrowed brow -- neighborhood watch, we call it -- and he offers a cheerful chirp and a bright, gummy smile to everyone we pass. "you've got a very special boy," i have been told more than once.
and don't we know it. this boy adds such a sweet and happy spirit to this house. he catches the sunshine and lights up our world. nights, we walk him into his dreams, tip toe to the next room, and sit awhile in a state of marvel at this tiny, growing wonder.
i can't wait to wake up to him, my happy boy in the morning.
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