You are 11 and a half weeks old and constantly blowing raspberries. I mean, constantly! I try to always have a drool cloth ready, but many times end up wiping slobber off your face with your sweater, my shirt or my sleeve. I'm usually leaking breast milk and have some drool on my shoulders anyway, what does a little more fluid matter? You are happy most of the time, blowing raspberries, smiling and laughing, or just observing the world around you. You continue to love to play Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes. I massage your legs and show you your quadriceps, hamstrings and calves. I massage your arms and point out biceps and triceps. You are strong, but your body is one big delicious squish. I have to stop myself from devouring you in kisses and raspberries of my own.
The first three months of a baby's life are often called the fourth trimester. Young infants are really still so very dependent on their mamas and I see it with you-waking up without me next to you is disorienting, even if your belly is full and you are safe. We are nearing the end of that time and I am curious to see if there is a difference in how much you trust your daddy or grandparents to take care of you. They all will, Sweet Pea, believe me! As it is now, when I've been away, you cling to me when I get back, pretty much living on my boob the rest of the day. I don't know how much of it is relief that I am back with you and how much is exhaustion from working yourself up into such a frenzy. Probably a bit of both.
Tomorrow Daddy and I have our first hockey game since your arrival. Auntie J is coming to hang out with you so I can play a bit and we are so excited to introduce you to the hockey team. If it weren't for hockey, you wouldn't be here. And I can't imagine my world without you in it.