Nineteen days old.
The fleeting moments of eyes open are stretching into longer moments.
Skinny legs are still skinny — but sturdier. Feet less fragile. And cheeks. Cheeks smooshier every day.
Baby acne popping out on forehead and cheeks. Welcome to Earth. Things aren’t quite clean and pure here. We need Jesus.
Doted on. Poked and pinched (in love — overwhelming, smothering sibling-love.) Held. All the time. Just because. Because she’s my baby.
Curls up in just the right way next to me while we sleep. Babies just fit, don’t they?
Those hands. I just love newborn hands.