letters to my roo

Your hands, fingers curling in and out, pointing at things or your little stability pinkie gently resting on me.

The seashell whorl of your ear, the imprint of it staining my skin pink.

Your little brioche bun arms. Rolls on rolls, the sweetest thing.

The little noises you make. I don’t know yet what you’re telling me, but I promise I’ll find out.

Your eyes, so blue right now, that close so gently when the milk hits just just right.

Your tiny button nose. I think you got my nose. It won’t look like a button forever.

How long your lashes are, and that there’s one that juts out straight amongst the curls.

The way your toes curl, too. You wiggle those toes and arch your feet, kick your legs when you’re trying to get the gas bubbles out of your tummy. I did ask you to let me get them out of you mid feed, but you said no, you could do it yourself. Independence already.

I can see your cheekiness already. It shines through those eyes, the ones that know I’m feeding you in the hopes you’ll fall asleep with a full belly and a happy smile. I think, from the way you’re looking at me, that I’m going to be wrong.