Saturday Morning, 9 o'clock

It has been a while since I found the time to write to you. Writing has been pushed to the side, thoughts and theories have been replaced by hugs and smiles. I’ve been so busy marveling at you, sharing days and nights and counting moments until I get back to you. So much has happened since you were born, it has only been 11 weeks and you are so small, so young and yet I know you very well, understand you, recognize every little feature and movement. You are starting to play now, starting to interact with the world with your arms and legs, holding, grabbing, kicking. In these few weeks you have learned to smile, to laugh, to turn your head and find me across the room. You have such stunning eyes; there is so much behind them, so many stories to be told, and so many things you seem to already know. You love your mother most, that’s how it is supposed to be and she deserves it so much. Every morning you wait and give her your biggest smile; it’s the best moment in my day.
In 11 weeks you have been to a wedding, ran 30-40 miles, had a late first Christmas, watched many soccer games on t.v., featured in many pictures, gave first smiles and learned to eat. Your granny and granddad and uncle Adam visited with you and you bonded with them and lay upon your grandmother and stared at her and my fears that you would not know each other all went away.
As I write you lie beside me on your play mat. You are kicking the soft, plastic ball that hangs by your feet and sucking at your thumb. You stretch, turn your head and I call your name twice until you look at me with your midnight eyes. A brief smile, a yawn and then you turn back and play. So together we lie, you in your world and I in mine, drifting in time.