8 AM and we have been up for an hour nursing, rocking, dozing (him, not me) playing and pooping (again, him not me). He is a morning baby. He is generally his most alert, most playful in the morning. And that is usually mama son time. It amuses me that this continues to be our time. Even while I was pregnant the morning was when I felt the most movement. I would lay in bed and feel his flutters and kicks. I use to rub my tummy and wonder about the person behind the movement inside of me. And now, I see him. He smiles when I shower his cheeks with kisses. He flaps his arms and legs as he gets excited. And so often, like right now, he squeals, concentrates and gets red when he is going to the bathroom. He is the best TV, best entertainment EVER when he is in his play mode. The camera can’t move fast enough to capture all his expressions. There is a movement ever moment, and it is unique and beautiful and wonderful. So fast these moments go. So fast the stages change. 7 weeks ago tomorrow they were pulling him out of me and my life was changed. And here I am now with an entirely different baby. One that is alert, smiles, looks at me, and knows me. I see myself in him. Something about the eyes, something about the way he is impatient with food, or getting comfortable before falling asleep. The way his lower lip curls out before he cries. He is his own person with snippets from me. I love to watch him to see him change, and yet I know I am missing changes. It is like that Areosmith song, I want to watch him sleep, because I don’t want to miss a thing.