I'm lying with you in bed. You're on my belly sideways, skin to skin, and you're asleep with your head in the crook of my arm. Currently, you have one arm over your face, the other under you, but you roll around; grunt and stretch like a grown up. I think you'll wake up but you don't.
These late mornings in bed with you are the best. I've taken you out of the bassinet to nurse, then I take your little sleep sack off leaving you just in your diaper. I've never stayed in bed this late in my life. It would have killed me to waste the day away, but now I can't imagine leaving you to get up.
I should take advantage of this down time and get things done around the house or take a shower but I love your feel and sounds and I want to be the first thing you see when you wake up. And then I get that smile from you that all but stops time. You'll never be this little again. 12 pounds of little man with perfect ears and nose, beautiful mouth and deep soulful eyes. I often speculate that there is a Freaky Friday style adult trapped in your infant body with your sense of humor, facial expressions, antics and understanding, but I think it's just your old soul that was waiting to come into my existence. I'll never be the same again.
And shortly after this, you peed up the front of your diaper down the side of my body and into the bed. Doesn't change a damn thing other than now I'm finally up, doing laundry.