In the hospital, they put a security tag on a leg band around each baby's ankle that looks quite a bit like the kind you'd see on a pair of jeans in a department store. And there are matching wristbands for mom and baby that the nurses compare often. Mothers are encouraged to compare them often too, to avoid any mix-up, I suppose. This is probably some insurance-mandated security. I understand the sentiment and as a new mother I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a touch nervous in some respects. (I confess I don't like seeing anyone else hold him. My baby.) Still, the thought that I'd have to check an ID band to verify the identity of my child is laughable. He's only been outside my body for for a few hours, but already I know his smell, his touch, his voice, his face so well, I'd be no more liable to mistake them as I would my own two feet.
The first night home from the hospital, Luke was sleeping in snatches. Sometimes 20 minutes, sometimes 2 hours. In the very beginning, you're supposed to wake your baby every few hours to eat, if they haven't awakened on their own. Lying in my bedroom and listening with every ounce of attention I had to the baby monitor, wondering if he's breathing okay, if he's too cold, too warm, I finally gave up and brought him into our bed. I placed him between my husband and I, carefully arranging the covers and pillows so that they'll stay clear of his little face. Shawn and I stared at each other over the top of Luke's little head in the darkness, both afraid we'd roll over on him or lose him in the covers. A few hours later, I awoke to find I was curled around Luke on one side and his father was curled around him on the other with a hand on his back. Your body knows. It's amazing how much of this parenting thing is instinct.
Luke occasionally startles from his sleep. We can be talking or watching a movie and he won't stir. He can nap in a baby sling around my chest while I'm doing the dishes and won't be disturbed. But something small, like the clink of a spoon against the side of a teacup as I stir my tea, and the snoozing baby on Shawn's lap flails, sending his limbs out in all directions before conking right back out again. Shawn and I look at each other. "Just like his mother," Shawn says.
Luke seems to be testing out his facial expressions. Trying them on for a good fit. In his sleep his brow sometimes wrinkles like he's thinking about something difficult or worrying about world peace. I find myself just staring at him a lot. When he sleeps, I'll lay him down on my tummy (we're both still used to him being there) and watch his face change. The other night, sitting next to me on the couch, Shawn was playing his guitar, trying to get the knack for a difficult chord change in a new song. I looked at my husband's furrowed brow and laughed. "Just like his father." Shawn looked up quizzically. "I've been looking at that same expression all day."
One of the exciting bits about being a parent is thinking about all the cool things you'll get to teach your child. While talking to Luke who was laying in my lap, a song came on the stereo in the background. "Luke," I said, "This is The Beatles. The Beatles are very important." Shawn looks up from an electronics project he's working on, very seriously seconding my analysis. "Very important," he says. Later, while dancing around the living room with Luke in my arms, I tell him, "When you get a little bigger, Mom will teach you how to dance." Shawn smiles. "Ballet will teach you good balance, Luke. And good balance will help you ski better."
It's 2:00 a.m. and I've just put Luke back to bed. Now that we've all settled into life together, we have a pretty reliable pattern going. Luke typically sleeps for 2-3 hours at a stretch through the night. That means that I get up twice in the middle of the night to change his diaper and feed him. They'll be one more feeding in the early morning when Shawn will fetch him and bring him to me and he'll finish out the night in our bed. It's doable. Changing, feeding, and rocking Luke back to sleep generally takes about an hour. Then I linger in his room for few minutes, watching him sleep and humming bits of songs so he knows I'm there. I move about his room, getting the next diaper and diaper cover ready to go, folding any blankets or burp clothes that are hanging about, putting away any stray socks or onesies that didn't make it back where they belonged during the day. He stirs a little in his sleep and murmurs. I lay a hand of top of his head and whisper to him. He quiets almost instantly, never opening his eyes. It's moments like this when I feel most like a mom.
P.S. Pictures of the kid posted on my photos page.