Sleeping baby

My grandson Luke is four weeks old today and I’m pretty sure he’s a genius of some sort. Although I have no demonstrable proof, trust me when I say that we Gigi’s are very intuitive about these things.

Just ask any of us.

Of course, be sure to allot enough time to see the pictures.

It might take a while.

One thing I can tell you for sure is that he has mastered the art of sleeping. My daughter swears to me that he opens his eyes and even cries on occasion, but I’m pretty sure she’s not telling me the truth. Every time that sweet little bundle is in my arms he demonstrates his superb sleeping skills. (I’m pretty sure Albert Einstein slept a lot as a baby.)

Occasionally he yawns, stretches a tiny arm up over his head and make a brief lamb-like bleat which I recognize as a baby prodigy-speak for, “Feed me.” I oblige with a bottle of milk his mother has supplied. He settles in, eyes still closed, lounging in the hammock that’s the crook of my arm.

While contemplating baby quantum physics, for sure.

Afterwards perched on my shoulder as I attempt to summon a burp, my husband manages to capture a wide-eyed picture. Unfortunately, he looks vaguely annoyed with me. (Luke, not my husband.) He was probably on the verge of a scientific break-through.

When I bring him back down to my arms he immediately lapses into a milk coma. Sweet baby sighs and soft rhythmic breathing follow.

Understandably.

Being brilliant is hard work.

 

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