One Small Child

I met Caleb last night, finally. He's 2 months old, and over 10 pounds. Pretty good for a baby who should be only 3 weeks old now! I came into the house, hugged Jakob (Andrew came to the airport with Erik to get me, so we had already done our initial catching-up: "Gween means... go! Wadd means stop! Mistoo Bill is a big big man!"), hugged Ari, and took possession of the child Caleb. As the baby settled into my arms as if he'd been awaiting my arrival so that he could finally relax, Erik eyed me with envious suspicion. "How is she doing that!? I can't even hold him!" Apparently even the magical Aunt Merly can't even make Caleb happy -- just his mommy, and now his dear Auntie Emily. Caleb accompanied me on my tour of the new house, reclining in the hammock of my arms, considering with me the deep red paint on the walls of the master bedroom, and declaring it satisfactory. Back downstairs he drifted off to sleep, still in my arms, and Ari in her amazement was compelled to pull out the seldom-used (just a couple of times a day) video camera to record for posterity the fact that Caleb likes me. And so, even if he cries every time I look at him for the next 5 days, I will be content with his sweet welcome as a nearly perfect, though too long in coming, introduction.