Today Truman was in a fussy mood, and Jonathan yelled at me from the bedroom (where he's sleeping the stomach flu away), certain that I had left Truman alone to cry. But I hadn't, he was just sitting in my sling while I sat at my computer. I was getting tired of trying to make him happy.
Realizing that this wasn't going to win me any good-mommy awards, or keep my husband's recovery on track, I got up to walk around and jounce him yet again. And I looked down and Truman's eyes were locked onto my face. For the first time, he was really staring at me, not just focusing for a few moments and then getting distracted by ... what, LIGHT? is that LIGHT?
We stood there, him staring at me with his big lovely tearless eyes (and he was just crying? what was it, a bunch of noise just to get me riled up?), and I couldn't help talking, and singing, to him. It was a terrible inappropriate song but it just seemed like the right sound for the occasion. And he stared, and stared, and stared, his bright blue-grey eyes locked onto mine.
June 18, 2005 - Truman learns to stare.
