Look who's talking
There are two clichés about babies that I would like to shoot down. One, "babies grow so fast, every day is such a unique experience" and two, "it doesn't matter whether it's a boy or a girl, as long as s/he's healthy."
I am always pretty skeptical about clichés so call me cynical if you want. (Keeping that in mind, isn't "i hate clichés" the ultimate cliché?)
So, when Hannes was born, I really wanted to shoot down those two. But I couldn't. I can't. And now I don't want to. Now I repeat those two sentences to all my friends right after, "what a nice day."
I mean, Hannes grows every day, and he makes new discoveries every day, and I would really want to be with him when he makes those discoveries. The other day, he "found" his hand. He was waving his hands like a madman - again - when he all of a sudden stopped, pulled his hand right in front of his face and examined his hand, first visually, then tasting it. Then he looked at me doing a standing ovation. Today, he started to "talk." And I am pretty sure his first words were: "Standing ovation? Pour moi?"
Two: it really doesn't matter if it's a boy or a girl, and as the most loyal of my readers (thanks
Jessica, thanks
Mom,
Dad, thanks
Pinseri) remember, we really thought we'd bring a baby girl home.
Hilda. So, when he made his grand entré into our world about three months ago, the first thing I checked was that he was ok. And
then, whether
it was a boy or a Hilda. And I fell in love the very second I could see anything from behind the big hospital bed.
The first three months have been quite overwhelming, in every way imaginable. But I wouldn't trade them for anything.
