I accept it - babies are magic

My entire world right now sort of revolves around diaper changes, bottles, and "okay, he's asleep I can take a quick trip to the washroom." There's not a lot of room for writing, which is...fine. (Y'know, fine in the I have a beautiful healthy baby why on earth should I complain about anything kind of way.)

And he is healthy. And beautiful, and he's at that adorable stage where he smiles at everything I say, which is really good for my ego.

So I'm in my happy Mommy-bubble. Which leaves me pretty much unfit for most adult conversation. My friends call and I say things like "Oh, he's doing the cutest thing!" And they say "what?" and I answer "He's breathing." (Though now it's more likely "he's talking", as he sits cooing at my elbow as I'm typing this.)

And babies really are magic. Everything about them, from the way they enter the world to the way they take it over once they've arrived. The way your heart stops when the doctor said his umbilical was around his neck. The way you can't breathe the first time he throws up and you can't be sure he's breathing. The way I can be changing the foulest diaper ever in a public washroom, and women still stop to tell me how beautiful he is. (The fact none of them gagged was magic, too!)

I realise this is the kind of love I've never written about. I'm not sure I have words for it. It turns out, I don't have to...he's got them, and they sound strangely like cooing while having the hiccups.