The Man

My friend Gail asks in an email "Tell me about the little man". I have traded several emails with her daily since he has been born, and somehow have yet to babble on and on about Dylan. I have been so busy in my own head, trying to both freeze and speed time, that I have been barely able to articulate and record the details of the new man in my life.


I kind of expected that this baby would be just like my first, and I realize now, as I said to my pediatrician, that his newness makes me an ignorant parent all over again. All of the things I knew and even believed myself to be an expert on are now packed away to make room for all the newness, the insecurity and the brand new delight.


Dylan, in a word, is a dream. His physicality speaks volumes about the kind of baby he is -- he has a wide open face, that is inquisitive and busy when he is awake and docile and doll-like when he is sleeping. His eyes are so much like his sisters that I can not imagine they will change from their blue-gray seas despite his brown eyed parents. Unlike Chloe, whose features and persona were intense and somewhat critical as a newborn, Dylan's are embracing, accepting, luminous. He has Chloe's strong chin and full lips, the lower one pouts out only in a rare moment of upset.



He spends most of the day asleep, whereas Chloe would stare at me, petulant in a bouncy seat. He craves closeness, holding, stroking. He has shared a few genuine smiles, but they are still distant and they vanish in the blink of an eye.



He has a stubborn streak already, and arms that I swear push my hands away when I am doing something he does not like. He refuses a pacifier - and clearly resents it when I push the plastic muffle on him. He is not easily distractable and does not greatly enjoy toys -- opting instead to stare at some household favorites, the metal rods of our headboard, the pattern of the duvet cover, the twinkle of the kitchen lightbulbs.



He is the lightest sleeper imaginable. He can smell me from a mile away and immediately starts calling for a drink, even if he is not thirsty, just because he senses that it's available. The sound of a bag opening, my typing, the creak of our bed, it all awakens him into a small gripe.

He likes to sleep in, just like me. Except I can't do that anymore, and neither can he, since his sister is shouting "Baby 'wake!" into his bassinette.

He has already brought me profound happiness, and redemption. This time, I am a mother who fell in love at first sight, felt strong even in the weak moments, and wants to stare into his eyes all day long.

I hope he makes all good women in his life feel this way, forever.