Isaiah

I never took the time to mention that my little sister had her baby two weeks ago. Isaiah, my newest nephew, arrived on August 28 with big, brown eyes, feet the size of a toddler's, and hands almost large enough to cover his entire face. He was only 6 pounds, 11 ounces.

I'm still debating over whether he actually is the cutest baby I've ever seen or if I just want one so much that all newborns have stopped looking like creepy old men and now appear to be adorable little gnome children. He's so alert and curious, he loves to cuddle, and he seems to likes me. This is how I know I'm bias. I'll favor any baby that doesn't cry when I hold it.

My sister is doing well. She made labor and delivery look so easy it's disgusting, and Isaiah couldn't behave better for her, because he came home sleeping through each night and even most of the day. It seems she's maturing with each day as a mother, and she couldn't be more in love with her son. Her days of self-gratification and capriciousness appear to have ended and she is more than happy to fill her days with feedings and sleep schedules, and talking to a little boy who can't quite respond yet. She's so comfortable doing all of this that she looks like a professional, like she's been changing diapers and interpreting cries for years. She baffles and amazes me, and her actions and reactions have convinced me that I could do it, too.