One thing all those baby books fail to mention is just how serious your little bundle of joy is going to be out of the gate. Sure, she has a variety of facial tics and expressions, most of which make us giggle, but most of the time this baby is more serious than Clint Eastwood. It seems we still have a few weeks till she masters bending those lips into a buttery smile.
Maybe I just skipped those chapters in a rush to read the lists of crazy diseases Cece could catch or the fitful sleep patterns we could mistakenly lock her into till adolescence, but I have to say it is seriously disconcerting sometimes to have a newborn flat out win every staring contest against you. Pound for pound she’s gotta be one of the best in the world. When she’s not feeding or sleeping or desperately clawing out of her blankets, she will gaze contently into space no doubt pondering world class breakthroughs in quantum physics or just how long she should wait, one minute or two, to poop in that fresh diaper her father just put on. One or the other.
Or maybe she’s plotting long range teenage rebellion plans that will drive her parents batty, but I’m sure one simple smile will leave us knocked kneed and have us reducing any punishment we may mete out. At least if it’s up to her father.