Day 8

Noah was born a week ago. Now this 7-days-old runs my life without mercy.

Late last year when my mom learned that I was expecting, she was so worried. "How could Jean be a mother? she is so impatient." Here i am, 9 months later, an infant lying besides me, going in and out of sleep. Every facial expression of his controls what i could and couldn't do the next second. Just now he was making a grunt face and farted, i froze, and waited for a screaming that would last and demand a feeding; or as it turned out, he went back to sleep and even smiled in his dream. Then i relax and continue typing this post...

I feel so undeserving to be given such a perfect angel. I wonder if this is the primary reason that so many parents enjoy parenthood despite all the work.  Babies are magical creatures. They took over your lives and reduced you to baby-talk simpletons and sleep-deprived zoombies, yet you loved them more for such torture, and you wish you could do better to serve him, to match his perfection.