Sprachbund in Austin: Farewell, Newborn Days!

Magdalena reflects on her youth.

Technically, a newborn ceases to be a newborn after the first four weeks. As baby Magdalena is approaching her fifth week on the outside, she is a mere baby. So this entry is a pictoral retrospective.

In all the ways the pregnancy sucked rocks, Magdalena's first weeks have been pretty grand. She sleeps, she eats, and she doesn't cry unless plagued by an unusually painful bout of gas.

We spend many an afternoon lazing on the bed while she snacks and naps, my breast proffered as either food source or pillow. It's a reader's delight, because all I can do is read and look down through hormone-soaked mommy lenses at baby. Evolution has gotten a few things right, especially with the whole "I look at my baby and hear blue birds singing" thing.

She has started the transition from looking like an old man (either French or Greek, I'm undecided), as in these two pictures....

"Garçon, a glass of milk, s'il vous plaît."

...to looking more like a cute li'l baby...

Agapito and I took her to see "Midnight in Paris" the other day, but she fell asleep. I admit I was tempted to do the same, because Allen's latest was fairly trite. A shame, given that "Vicky, Christina, Barcelona" was so good!

Soundproofing on a budget.

What's that on her head, you ask? A diaper, duh! An old Austin hippie gave me that ear-protecting tip for taking babies to concerts.

She's already started smiling, but only with Agapito! No justice, I tell you. All he has to do is waltz into the house, appear before her, and cry "Que paso?! Que paso?!", and she dissolves into crooked grins and wide-eyed wonder. Regardez...

The face of filial devotion.

What the hell? Whereas I'm like "Here, dear heart, siphon my essence from my breast for 14 hours a day...Sleep? Moi? Who needs sleep?!"

I'm convinced that I could have 10 more of this guy's babies and they'd all come out looking like Agapito from different angles. (It's like that scene in Being John Malkovich.)