The way you smile at one of us when we hand you to the other - as though you hadn't realized who had been holding you.
The moments we found all ourselves gathered on the full-sized bed together, for no particular reason, and could stop to enjoy that.
The way your mom would ask me "...What?", after peeling off on a tear of silly dialogue with you, as though she wasn't fully aware of how weird and adorable it was.
Clutching your tiny fingers together at your chest in the most melodramatic expression of "Oo! What next...?!"
Baby snorts.
The way you lean your belly into mom when she's holding you; like that Balzac statue in Chicago.
The way your mom held you when you were very young, leaned forward, with an elbow draped over her arm like you were lounging and slightly drunk.When lifted from your ribcage over our heads, you automatically assume a beautiful flyer position, looking straight ahead and smiling ear-to-ear.
You, trying to eat your card books while your mom reads them to you.
Bah. Mmbah. Baaahhhhh. Bah! Mmmmmmmbahhhhhhh...
The difference between how you wake up in the middle of the night - "Ah! What's going on?! I'm miserable, whatever it is!" - and in the morning: "Hey! Hi! I'm up! You are too, I see! What're we playing now...?"
Bottle-rocket shrieks of joy, or boredom, and your exploration of your voice. That includes sort of mouthing a scream, but all that comes out is a little gasp-y non-sound.
Your concentration face, though we suspect it will never change all that much.
The crazy hair. I mean, a naturally occurring rat-tail, then mohawk? What's next - dreadlocks?
Gnawing on our shoulder when we hold you. It usually means you're tired, or hungry. Or both.
The cold teething toys are supposed to make you feel better. But when we put them in your mouth, you look at us like, "What are you doing, you fools?"
Your mom doesn't sing for many people. She sings for you.
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