Three weeks Four Days

My phone is overloaded, so overloaded that it won't let me take a single picture. This is most certainly due to the recent photo shoots of my son. I do not mind that I have a plethora of pictures of both my son & my Mister. Not one bit.

I love the way my Little Bean is cooing now. I hate that he is wearing a size one diaper, & has also grown out of his newborn onesies, before he is even a full month old. Bright shiny blue eyes, like Daddy's, dark thick hair, like Mama's, he even has the most perfect heart shaped, plump lips. Watch out ladies!

I love the way he grabs onto the collar of my shirt when he sleeps, the way he tugs onto my nursing bra while he feeds. I watch him in awe as he stares at me while he suckles, he knows me, & loves me, & I can see it in his expression. He follows me with his eyes, he falls asleep only on my chest, to my heart beat, & my smell. He has been doing his tummy time since two weeks old, all by himself thanks to our athletic genes, and he is stronger than most two-monthers. 

He pees with the strength of a power washer, a stream so high it flies right over him, & onto our clean sheets. He has an act for "relieving himself" the second we take off his dirty diaper, never missing a chance. His burps are stronger than Daddy's, & we wouldn't have it any other way. These small disasters, to some, are the Mister & I's cure for the 3:00 AM (cranky parent syndrome), instantly surging us into love for one other, & adoration to our son's ways of making us laugh. 

Everything about him is so lovely, even the way his little tongue quivers when he fusses. He is the apple of my eye, & I cannot believe he is all mine.