His name is Ezra

Ezra is impatient. He curls his lip with displeasure. His eyebrows turn into Vs when he's mad. He likes to be held. He drools on himself occasionally. When he's calm it lasts a few minutes before he let's out a goo or a gee, which leads to a wimper that leads to a cry. He fights me to take the bottle. He seems unhappy. All of this brings on frustration. Am I not a good parent? What am I doing wrong? I forget to change his diaper. His mother is not happy. She breastfeeds him. He gulps as if it's his last meal. He is drunk.

Ezra is a good boy. Spoiled is a word used a lot by others to describe him. You can't spoil a 3 month old.  This is our belief and we reinforce it amongst ourselves. We love him. He is wonderful. He mesmerizes us. His cheeks make us laughs. His hair sticks up and we giggle. His random stares and half-way looks melts our hearts. We are captivated by his every move. We want to capture them with camera phones and video. He enjoys baths. He has the cleanest belly in the world. The warm water soothes him. His straight hair curls up when its wet. He's ready to eat. He's ready for bed.

Ezra has begun sleeping better at night. I am selfish because it is his mother who awakens whenever he does. She feeds him. Changes his diaper. She puts him back to sleep. I rub her back to show my appreciation. A weak attempt at support. I take her for granted. I appreciate all she does. Mothers have an innate, instinctive gene that allows them to do all things. They make life easier for everyone else but their own. Ezra has no idea how lucky he is. Neither does his father.

Ezra smiles in the morning. He stretches both arms as if a fitness instructor has taught him the proper technique. He looks like Winnie the Pooh, plump and plush, care free. He smiles when she does funny dances in front of him. He laughs when I tickle his breast-milk created stomach. I wonder if he's happy. I wonder if I can do better.

Ezra finds comfort on my shoulder. He loves hanging in his Bjorn. Ezra is special. He is more than I could ever ask for. He is my gift, one that I realize doesn't truly belong to me. I'll forever treasure him but he will stand as his own man in this world and in his life. That's not until later. For now, he's all mine.