…when I titled that last post, “R & R.”
I’m on baby duty tonight. Preston is so soft and round. He’s got a double chin and dimples. He’s quite a lovely child. And, yet…so stressful.
It just goes to figure that Adell would bear a child who doesn’t know what to do with his hands; so he has to be wrapped up tightly all the time. Swaddled, they call it. Otherwise he smacks himself in the face. And sometimes at night he cries just to cry. Not hungry, not stinky, not anything but just…kind of belligerent. Of course babies can’t really be belligerent, because that would mean they could feel spite, and I won’t believe that he’s spiteful. I think he just doesn’t quite know–well, anything. Yet.
Anyway, Preston doesn’t like me as much as he likes his Grandma. But that’s okay. I wasn’t expecting him to love me straight off the bat, like I did him.
It’s strange, that. I can spend lots of time meeting new people at church, or school, or anywhere, and maybe–maybe–a fourth of them I end up loving. But this little guy? Absolute, unconditional love. Immediately. Most strangers I meet don’t poop their pants; Preston does. Most strangers don’t totally ignore me when I’m talking to them; Preston does. Most strangers don’t scream in my ear for extended periods of time; Preston definitely does. But despite his unfortunate quirks, I feel like there’s nothing this boy could ever do to make me love him any less. Weird.
Must be because he doesn’t have any cats.
He’s sleeping now. I wish I could, too. But every noise he makes draws my attention. I’m afraid he’s going to choke on his spit-up, or turn his head the wrong way and not be able to lift it and then he’ll suffocate. He’s stressing me out.
Which is why being Auntie ‘Mille is far superior to being “Mommy.” In my {ahem} humble opinion.
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