So much better

I have no idea what Miles' weight is. And I don't care. He's eating like a champ. He's staying awake for feedings. He lets me know when he's done. It no longer hurts. His poops and pees are right on target and therefore I have stopped thinking about what his current weight, to the ounce I might add, would be. Blah. It doesn't matter. And I could drive myself crazy thinking about it. So I won't.

The problem with the name Miles is that it's tough to come up with a nickname. I've noticed myself calling him angel baby. He is. He is so perfect. It's amazing to sit and feed this perfect person. He is completely without sin. Straight from heaven. Isn't that remarkable? I find myself censoring what I am saying or listening to because after all why should this perfect little person have to listen to such an imperfect world.

We have a wonderful ritual, he and I. He eats and when he's done, he'll pull himself off and nuzzle into my breast. He smiles and looks so content. Sometimes he'll open his eyes and sometimes he'll leave them closed but he always looks so happy. I'm happy too. Happier than I've ever been. I love holding him. I have a wrap to wear him and I love that too. I love it when he lays on my chest and scoots up into my throat. I love that when I pick him up I can comfort him. And when he lays on me, he is soothed. He brings me the most immeasurable joy I've ever felt.