Eight weeks now and already hard to remember when you were not ours yet to hold, and kiss, and rock, and smile down at every morning. Your new and handsome face at certain angles showing shadows of your brothers newborn reflections, but still mostly all your own. A face I saw, almost exactly in a vision mid way through my pregnancy. An image of you at the beach, what seemed to be about eight months old, with those deep set steel blue eyes and brown fuzz atop your head, smiling down at me from high up in your father's arms.
I knew you then, in an instance.
You were familiar from the start.
Eight weeks. And so many exciting "firsts" to take note of.
First movie, Palo Alto, then Maleficient as a family.
First restaurant, Mexican food at Miguels. Same as each of your brothers before you.
First birthday party, your cousin's, 3 days new.
First overnight trip: San Onofre, and now 3 or 4 camp trips under your belt already because you proved so easily accepting of a constantly shifting schedule showing you different spaces, faces and places that come to define our summers as a family.
First real smile, a week ago. Melting us instantly.
And more I am sure I lost track of amidst such weary bliss, lost in a fog that took no interest in days, hours, appointments. Holed up in a sun soaked room watching you grow and change almost daily. Your body frail, nearly weightless at first, feeling suddenly full and heavy to lift in the middle of the night from out of the cradle beside my bed.
Eight weeks.
And full of magic. Love and promises only your pretty blue eyes, at this point, can even begin to possibly relay.
