Honeymoon at Home.

These first days with Noah have been so peaceful, a hundred and ten times easier than the first couple of weeks? months? years? with Ethan. Having a baby a second time makes me feel so darn competent. So far, Noah is happy as long as he's fed every two hours (my life is now broken up in two hour intervals; you'd be surprised how hard it is to: feed the baby, get dressed, eat, maybe get one thing done, and then it's time to feed again. Going out of the house? That's a whole different story altogether, especially with a fifteen to twenty minute drive time anywhere one way).
I don't mind getting up in the middle of the night when I hear his loud, desperate cry. The house is so still, and with just the hallway light on outside his bedroom, we sit together and rock and he eats, sucking the milk from my body. He looks up at me with his dark eyes, and I can tell he's starting to know me. Then he has to burp. He seems to do this on his own, but I pat his warm back anyway as I look at his face, which seems to already be changing. By this point, he's usually very sleepy and out of it, occasionally opening his eyes just a bit, and then closing them again as his head flops forward. I can't get enough of it.
When he's happy and fed, his diaper is changed, and he's back in his snuggly, I give him one last squeeze, on last smell of his soft head, and then leave him alone in his crib, happy we'll get to do it all over again in another two hours.
Seriously, I know that all sounds insane, but that's how it is.