Last Wednesday was I’s six-week birthday. It seems like just yesterday he was a baby.
Six weeks is when I’s supposed to start smiling like he means it. He’s been smiling, but he hasn’t known it: According to The Books, smiles before six weeks correspond strictly to changes in sleep states. (The Books can be merciless.) When I drifts off, a half-smile will sometimes break over his face: The effect's a little like he’s enjoying a private joke.
At least that’s what The Books say. Lina says he’s been smiling at her for weeks.
It’s another example of how evolution seems to have inverted the proper order of things: The whole species-being thing would go a lot farther if he threw us a smile now and then. But over the last week, he’s been trying on new facial expressions, and if he’s in the right mood and you’re being the right sort of silly, his mouth will open up into a toothless half-moon. For a second, it pulls the tides along with it. And then it dissolves.
You’ve only read this far because you’re expecting a photo, of course. Sorry. Soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment