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The Fifth Month
Field notes from a first-time mother
It’s six in the morning. In the gray predawn light, I see my baby’s eyes popped wide open. He’s laying between us in the bed.
A week ago, he learned to reach and grasp; last night, he rolled all the way over nearly on his own. Now, I’m watching his little head turn back and forth between his two parents.
The hands come up. Soft, they land on my cheeks and nose. They curl, feeling: nostrils, lips. Then he retracts, looks left, rolls onto his side, and reaches for Robert’s face.
Too far away. He wiggles. He turns back to play with my face.
“Fshaa. Blbhmm. Doot. Huaaa,” he whispers. He blows a raspberry and then raises his feet high in their little sleep sack.
Another day, on the floor in front of the fireplace. The baby takes my chin in his two hands and turns it so he can suction with his mouth. He seems hungry, so I offer him a feed.
He picks a patch of skin near — but definitely not on — the nipple, and sucks so hard he leaves a hickey. He gets on the nipple, starts to suckle, then pops off with a big smile, letting the milk spray his face: baby jokes.
Another day, the couch. The baby enjoys being read to. He doesn’t understand anyway, so I just read whatever I’m reading — at…
