Baby Love

I love his chubby cheeks, the extra chin that turns his neck into a great, hidden mystery, the dimples on his elbows so deep they are really divots. I love the soft, sweet orb of his belly, the creases in his thighs that look as though they were deep-cut by a raging river over millions of years, the way his fat little ankles bulge out over the perfect rectangles of his feet.

I love his eyes, grey then blue. I love the locks of hair that are beginning to curl right above his forehead. I love the ridiculously long fringe of his eyelashes, his mouth, still slightly crooked that reminds me of the months he spent banging his head up under my ribs, the tiny pink kiss of a birthmark on the back of his neck.

I love how he delights in staring at me until he gets my attention and then quickly turns away with a giggle when he sees me look at him. I love the dirty look he gives me when he is trying to find his pacifier and put it in his mouth and I do it for him - I can just hear him thinking, "Mommy, I can do it myself." I love the way he holds his hand out to me and squeals, demanding that I escort him to the kitchen or to one of his favorite toys on the floor. I love the look of determination and bliss on his face as he stands on his own, holding onto a couch, chair, or table. I love that he looks at me for approval and praise.

I love the elaborate syncopation of his fingers running through my hair as he falls asleep. I love cuddling him as he falls asleep, watching as he struggles to find the energy to keep running his fingers through my hair and then collapses, his head lolling back on my lap with a sweet little sigh. I love putting him in his crib and watching him fling himself onto his stomach and pulling his knees up under him like a piston ready to fire. I love going in to get him when he awakes and finding him sitting in the corner of his crib, peering through the slats of the crib, watching for the door to open and breaking into grins and giggles when he sees his rescuer has arrived.

I love the way he eagerly grabs his gerber puffs, biter biscuits, or wagon wheels and shoves them in his mouth, always saving a piece or two in his clenched fist to eat when his supply runs out. I love the way he hands me pieces of his food, or toys, or lint he finds on the floor and then peers into my hands to see what I have, finally thinking better of his generosity and snatching the item back.

I love even the crying, the sad or angry or hurt tears, the temper tantrums, the howling in frustration, the laughing when I tell him no, the hitting my face when he eats, the long nights of no sleep. I love it all.

I love his laugh, not best; I couldn't pick a single thing I love best, but perhaps as first among equals. I love the way it rolls and peals and starts and stops in fits. I love that he is starting to find his own humor. I love it when he laughs at me, and even more when he laughs with me.

I love being here every day, for all of it, for every small step and large step and every step in between. I love being a mommy, being this kind of mommy, being almost always within the sound of voice he finds more and more every day.

What do you love? (I'd love to hear your comments -- What do you love about your kids (or kids special to you)? Or, even better, what do you love about Aidan?)