Just look at that face. Isn't it sweet? Full of promise, potential, blank pages, possibility. Like a Polaroid picture as it processes, I am starting to see who Summer will grow to be through little clues she leaves me here and there. She is happy to observe and take things in, quietly, unassuming. She loves to eat. She makes herself heard when necessary. She loves her sisters' voices and faces.
This is all fascinating, and a major perk of parenthood: seeing these first glimpses into who your children will be, and then getting to ride it all out and witness their development firsthand. I count my lucky stars.
But I'll level with you: I am not a huge fan of the newborn stage. I'm not feeling anything red-flag like "I hate my newborn," nor do I want to shake her in frustration or run away and never return. These new babies are just so hard to figure out sometimes, because they haven't even developed the skill of reacting to my smiling face.
Summer is a very well-behaved newborn, and for that I am grateful. I love her soft, sweet cuddles when she sleeps on my chest and I love her smiles as she sighs into a great sleep after a satisfying meal. But I do not love the sleepless nights where I am awake for an hour at a time ensuring she has eaten her full meal. I do not love the frequency with which she requires my milk, because it means I can't leave the house without her or take a very long shower. I am not a fan of how fragile and precarious anything health-related can be for a newborn, because it sets me on edge.
These are all small-scale issues, I know, and they are fleeting. I'll blink and she'll be six months old and sitting. It is what it is, and I am well-versed enough in this mama game to know that the newborn stage is not for me, but I am finding great highlights in it, recognizing we will never do this again, and carpe diem-ing this newborn-ness for as long as it lasts.