On the Outside

When Oliver was born, his eyes were wide open, and stayed that way for four hours. The physicians, nurses, and anesthesiologists were all amazed at his alertness. Between feedings, Oliver is still wide awake; his eyes are always searching for something. It boggles my mind, then, to think that just over three weeks ago, those big eyes were open inside of my womb.

How bizzarre that while I was folding newborn laundry into his drawers, his line of vision was taking in an umbillical cord and other uterine surroundings.

New parents and everyone who attends their baby showers find great amusement in finding The Cutest blanket, outfit, burp rag and singing stuffed animal duckie in hopes that it will attract the baby's attention and cause him to gain a few IQ points. But I assure you, there are no stars, puppies, duckies, footballs or fish in my uterus.

Oliver is teaching me things about himself all the time. One of our more recent discoveries is that he is not a baby that likes to be held over your shoulder. If you start out burping him in this position, he'll last no more than 12 seconds before wiggling down so that his head is hanging off to the side. To heck with supporting the little infant's neck. He is most comfortable dangling awkwardly to view the world from the side. He looks like a parasite growing off of my arm.

And while he's there, he takes in the world. In particular, he loves to stare at our window treatments. I was initially opposed to forking out a chunk of our paychecks just to manage the amount of daylight that sneaks into our home, but I'm now understanding that it's not only practical, but also serves for hours of infantile entertainment. His little eyes search up and down with such fervor that you'd think he was tripping on acid.

It makes me think of times when we used to have time to lay on the grass and look up at the clouds to name the shapes that they made to our eyes. Perhaps Ollie is looking at our cellular top-down-bottom-up window treatments in Sand Dune and watching shapes shift into umbillical cords.