Last week was extremely difficult for both mother and baby. I was able to get some photos of her on the day of her five-week mark, thankfully. That in itself was a minor miracle. There were some moments when she was not fussing, and I took full advantage. I cannot get over her supreme cuteness.
This week has been slightly better than last week. On Monday, Hope was six weeks old. She has still been fussing quite a bit, but every now and then I get these five to ten-minute pockets of calm (sometimes even twenty minutes) where she just stares at me and smiles and does all manner of cooing and oohing and aah-ing. She is sweet as can be.
And these photos are truly craptastic. But my goal this week was just to get something, since time was not on my side. I want to remember her hands, her feet, her expressions, no matter how awful the photo comes out. I was able to get what I wanted to remember which was my only objective.
Her gangsta hand. She has her hands in this position 50 percent of the time. The majority of the remaining 50 percent consists of her hand displaying the number four.
Pretty girl. With her little angel wings forming above her ears. And I don't know why I call them angel wings. I just do.
Heehee. This one looks like the photos I took of my teenage son when he was an infant. I miss film. Even disposable film.
My Hopey is the sweetest little flower.