I'm holding little six-week-old Walter as he comes to the end of his three-hour nap. He doesn't wake up and start crying. No, he gradually starts to wiggle. He opens his mouth wide, eyes still closed, and starts shaking his head side to side. He wiggles some more and starts pecking. I shift his position and his eyes open; he looks surprised but calm. As his hands rapidly move up and down, he seems to realize that he's hungry. And then he's settled and feeding before his tummy ever growls.
I believe in Oxytocin: This routine generates liquid love that runs through my veins, feeding the motherly feeling and making me want to hold on as tightly as I can as long as this little chunky baby still fits in my arms. I know it won't be long enough.