One of my favorite moments with E happens after she’s fed. We’re sitting in the rocking chair, baby comforter at my back, feet up on the rocking stool. She latches off, mouth agape and head full of silky hair rolling back on my arm, limp and happy, the soft folds of her neck exposed, her eyes closed. Her eyelashes are wondrously long, so long they curl at the ends, so long pieces of lint get stuck on the ends, like a dusting of snow. I’ll be watching her, not making a sound, listening as her breathing gets heavier, and then suddenly she’ll smile in her sleep. It lasts just a moment, a big goofy drunken-old-man smile, and then she relaxes back into sleep again.
I don’t know how she truly feels about life most of the time. It must be hard adjusting to the world after the safety of being inside. I think a lot of how she is these first few months may be her reconciling herself to living here, on her own, in the world. But her private smiles make me think she must be happy, even content, and I catch them like secret little gifts in the night.
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