Peanut.

May 15, San Jose.

My mother left today for France, she went back home and left me missing another set of precious arms, a soothing voice for Nicolas, she would hold him for hours at a time, talking to him, laughing, and I miss her so.
Nicolas is a more difficult baby than Dylan, sometimes hardly sleeping during the day, needing to be held and soothed long after he's nursed. He does that with gusto, he weighed 9'5 already at his last pediatrician visit before we hit the road. I wrap him in a burrito-style swaddle, rock him and sing, use a tototte (my Mom's lingo for a pacifier,) whatever it takes to calm him down. He's an adorable burrito.
My mother stayed with me a month and a half, planning her trip for Nicolas' birth. He was born in a birthing center in Dallas similar to the one where Dylan was born in Savannah. Labor was half the time it took for Dylan, only an hour - "only" for all those who have never been through labor pains.
Still. An hour labor, a natural birth without a hitch and a healthy baby, miraculous all.
Nicolas opened his eyes the moment he was born and sometimes it seems he's not shut them since. Always his eyes wide open, dark blue still, taking the world in. The other thing that struck us the moment he arrived were his fingers, incredibly long and fine, like a pianist in the womb.
He was tiny, and seemed tinier. I named him my Peanut, although when he was born I thought he rather looked like E.T., the friendly little alien; his face had that long, triangular shape, all bones and big eyes. Just a couple of weeks later my mother thought he looked more like a Buddha, double chin and all.
My Peanut, my little Buddha, Nicolas, welcome to the world.

Nicolas, 6 weeks old.