My second baby cries just like a baby. WAAH, he cries, squirming awake from a long, long sofa nap. WAAAH WAAAH WAAAH. His mouth turns down at the corners, his eyes are wet and confused. His misery is cartoonish, picture-perfect. WAAAH WAAAH WAAAH. The cries are sweet, almost conversational, and they make my heart contract sharply. I lift him into my arms, bury my nose in his soft, sweet-smelling, dark hair. He is different from his brother, though I'm not sure how yet. He's still so new, so far from who he will be. Also, as much as I'd like to believe otherwise, I've already mostly forgotten what his brother was like at this brand-new, larval stage, so I cannot quite say for sure, This is like, or This is unlike.
WAAAH WAAAH WAAAH, he cries, and I cuddle him to my chest. He is still too young to cuddle back. I do not know who he is yet, but I love him, fiercely, deeply. I weep as I nurse him, picking up where he leaves off, wanting only to be closer, to never let him go.