Babe In Arms

One thing about our little Max, he does like to be held. He is always happiest when someone is craddling him in their arms. He loves to study faces up close and to be lulled to sleep by human movement. He can be in, what seems to be, the deepest sleep while being held, but the moment the holder even thinks of putting him down--even with the intention of giving him a more restful sleep elsewhere--he begins a 5-minute long process of sniffing and snorting and generally working himself up into a tizzy. And with the release of the child also comes the release of tiny, yet powerful, protests. They say you can't spoil a baby for at least six months, but Max seems determined to prove them wrong. He's got us all wrapped around his teeny, tiny finger--and his killer set of lungs. And who can blame him, really? Since the moment he was born there has always been some willing arms, ready to receive him. And with the constant stream of visitors, when one set of arms tires, another is there to take over. I don't truly believe he is spoiled; just a normal, needy newborn. But certain things--eatting dinner, reading a book, typing a blog post--are just a lot more difficult to do with an armful of baby, and I, for one, will be glad when the demand to hold is not quite so all-consuming.