I remember the first time I nursed Isaac.
The nurse brought my teeny, one hour old newborn to me. I was excited and terrified, wondering what my body was going to do, how he would respond. I remember the wierd feeling when he latched on that first time. The nurse was impressed with me and my newborn, able to nurse like that the first time right away.
What I really remember about that first time is how tiny Isaac's little head was. I just looked down at his teeny baby face in awe; awe that this was my baby, my beautiful little baby boy. I didn't mind any of the times that the nurses woke me up with my hungry baby. I knew that I was going to love this experience, just because it gave me time to stare at my baby. I knew that no matter what else was going on, I would have this time, just me and Isaac.
As the days, weeks, months rolled on, I still love the experience. I watched my baby face, so small next to my engorged breasts. I watched his tiny mouth root around, shaking his head from side to side, searching desperately for his food. I watched as he become more and more adept at nursing, to the point he is at now where he just leans back and uses his hands to direct his food right to his mouth. I watched him go from teeny baby face with squinty eyes that most often fell asleep while eating to staring me directly in the eyes. I watch as his baby face grew, and now it is larger than me. I watched his hair go from fuzzy dark hair to the beautiful silky light brown it is now.
Last night, he pulled off for a minute, stared me in the eyes and smiled his beautiful baby smile, then latched back on. I love this. I love staring at my beautiful baby face. I love the interaction that is just between me and him. I love locking eyes with my son and communicating in silence.