One instant they're staring blankly past your loving glances, intermittently smiling at the passing gas bubble or tickle on their cheek and entertaining themselves with the shadows on the ceiling.
And then in another, you look over at them with your tired, bloodshot, "isn't red sexy?" eyes and they're sitting straight up out of their bouncy seat;
grabbing at your coffee cup with their other hand full of your hair;
batting at your necklace and hanging on it like it's a zip cord;
belly laughing at the dogs racing around the yard in the warm Spring air;
rolling over with intention and reaching for the smallest, chokeable toy on the floor;
screaming every time you leave the room like you've put nails in their diaper;
smiling at their siblings desperately trying to impress them with fart noises and pirouettes;
and grinning mischievously as they chomp down on your nipple with a couple of brand new razor sharp baby teeth. Can you hear my screams?
All the better to eat from you with, mama