Today, The Bug got four more shots. He cried and I felt bad, but he calmed down fairly quickly after I got some Tylenol and milk into him.

Last night, the electricity went out. He was fine until his Lolo's cell phone rang, which startled him, then he freaked. He was screaming so hard, I could hear him in the garage. I nursed him then, too, but he didn't calm down so quickly. He hiccupped for a long time.

***

He's 18 pounds, 9.5 ounces. 95th percentile for weight, 75th for height (big improvement over his two-month appointment), and 90th percentile for his head. He has a big brain.

***

The doctor was very happy to see his two little teeth, and says he's ready to start eating some food. He got a little turkey on Thanksgiving and a few days earlier, I gave him sweet potatoes. Both times, he looked at me like I'd insulted him.

***

He figured out how to raspberry back at me, and now he does it when he's frustrated. It's hilarious. The spit is everywhere. It just cascades out of him.

***

He found his feet yesterday. Today he's touched them a few times. He seems to be counting his toes. I keep telling him they're all there, I've counted myself a hundred times, but he doesn't trust me.

***

Right now, he's in my lap sleeping. He has these bandaids on his thighs that look enormous. He's beautiful and brave.

I remember the Tickle Me Elmo phase, and the pink Power Ranger thing. I remember being a little girl and wanting a Cabbage Patch doll when they were sold out everywhere. I always thought it was ridiculous. I never thought I'd get into the craze.

This year, theeeeeeeeeeeeeee thing for infants is the Hedgehog. And I must have one.

Takes two weeks to SHIP for god's sake.

MUST. HAVE. HEDGEHOG.

It's weird, being okay with picking someone else's nose.

God, he's an annoyed little bitchy bundle of flesh lately. Mister Aran says it's because he's developing, getting smarter. He spends all his time awake buzzing around like Johnny Five in the big city: "Input, input, input!" If you leave him alone, even with toys and stuff, for one minute, he gets very upset. He wants you to watch. He needs to see your face. He's very studious.

He can't even stay on the breast. He used to be very meditative and focused when eating, but no more. Now he pops on then pops immediately off, as if something incredible is about to happen on his favorite soap opera and he's going to miss it.

He has trouble staying asleep, and when he does finally rest, he dreams. He talks in his sleep, smiles and frowns, even laughs and whimpers. I can't imagine what he must be learning. It would all be much more cool to watch if he'd just let me sleep a bit longer, but he wakes up when I put him down.

Along with all this annoying stuff is some great stuff. He sings along with us, now, and he freaks out with joy when Mister Aran plays rough with him. There's a lot of spontaneous laughter, and he smiles when he sees me in the morning. There are more facial expressions and more impatience. He gets bored with things he understands. He is moving on to something else, and I feel behind.

I see that children fill the existential hollowness many people feel; that when we have children, we know they will need us, and maybe love us, but we don't have a clue how hard it is going to be. We can't understand when we're pregnant, or when our siblings are expecting, how profound it is to have a shared history with a younger generation: blood, genes, humor. It means we were actually here, on Earth, for a time -- like the Egyptians with their pyramids, only with children. It's a great experiment to wait and see what will come of it. With buildings, the result is often fantastic, but with people, the result is almost always a bit of a mess.

-Lamott

He's teething and that's hard. He's in pain and there isn't much you can do. He gives me this look, like he definitely didn't sign up for this and all he wants is directions back to where he came from.

Please

I've read that when you're a recovering alcoholic, you feel like you can't get involved with anyone who hasn't been an addict, who hasn't tried to kick it, because it's this defining experience in your life and you're unable to relate on your deepest level with anyone who can't understand it.

I guess having a kid is kind of like that. You get the nods in the grocery store, at the mall, in restaurants. You're part of a club when you have a kid. Just when you think you're never going to be able to go out again, a waitress rescues you with a kind word, a distraction, a hateful glance at the other muttering patrons, and later she tells you about her own kids.

Yeah, it has to do with having gone through it yourself, that compassion, but there's something more.

***

The other night, The Bug was sleeping on my shoulder. I could feel his chest expanding against my own, and his little breaths on my neck. Sometimes, he would catch his breath and sigh. And this idea, this notion, that I had made something that had lungs and could breathe on its own, was so outer limits that it boggled my mind. Maybe I lived my adult life too far away from the experience, but I'm sure every sane parent feels it, this wonder.

***

Tonight he was asleep on my shoulder again, and I went through all the different sensations. Like, the smallness of his back, the warmth from his neck, the breath on my skin. I got up to put him in his crib and the panic seized me, like it does lately. It happens so often that I almost don't hear myself when I start to pray.

I remembered my parents, praying with me, all through my youth, on our knees at the couch and beside our beds and on the carpet at church. I always thought we did it because we were Christians, and never realized that all over the world, people were praying for their families.

All my prayers,

no bad dreams, only sweet dreams, always

don't let him be hurt

healthy and happy

let him live a long life

came out all at once in one word, over and over.