Kamal napped in the backyard while Adam and I pruned some of our fruit trees, and then when he woke up, we played there on the blanket for a while, and then all sat together on The Thing (our name for the piece of outdoor furniture I got Adam for his most recent birthday, a sort of glider/picnic table hybrid) and chatted, cheesed for the camera and enjoyed being a still-new little family on a lovely, sunny day.
Monday night was not, so much. Kamal and I were up--nursing, rocking, pacing, repeat-repeat-repeat--from 11:15 PM till about 3:30 Tuesday morning. THREE THIRTY. IN. THE MORNING.
So, ok. It's not all sunshine and smiles and idyllic backyard naps. But even on the long, addled days following frustrated, sleepless nights, I love this tiny person more fiercely than language exists to describe.
He has brought me the relief of unquestioned devotion to someone else, the gift of forgiving myself for every imperfection, but that is not why I love him. I love him for no reason. I love him past reason.
I love him through undereye bags and crazy sticky-up bangs and baby snot on my shoulder and falling hard off the coffee wagon and forgetting everything I didn't write down and feeling sticky all the time. He is more mine than anything has ever been.