Our daughter Maya is one week old today, and she just came home from the hospital a couple of days ago.
Since then, things have been pretty hectic and more than a little stressful around our here: middle of the night feedings, diaper changes, bouts of crying, and the near constant stress of questioning whether you're doing things the Right Way.
It's been a tumultuous few days.
But even though I don't always feel it, I do know that things will settle down at some point, and that my wife, kiddo, and I will ease into something approaching normalcy, even though whatever that normalcy is will be virtually unrecognizable from what constituted normalcy this time last year. We're not there yet, but we will be someday.
But this afternoon after a feeding, my wife and I shared a wonderful moment. It was a sunny day outside, and we just stood there looking on at our daughter. Bathed in a ray of sunshine, clad in an adorable set of pink jammies, tucked safely under a blanket, and sleeping contentedly, she was the very picture of snug.
"You know," my wife said, about to state the obvious. "I think our little girl is pretty cute."
"Not me," I told her. "I don't think she's cute. I know she is. And I'm not just saying that because I'm her dad. It's a fact. Objectively speaking, our daughter is cute."
And immediately after I said that, our adorable, angelic, precious daughter let loose with a thunderously loud torrent of mustardy poop, filling her diaper and giving her parents their first gut busting laugh since she was born.
Hardly a week old, and already her sense of comic timing is deadly. Man, I love this kid.
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As adorable as your daughter.
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