Last week Joe tucked Lux under his arm, I packed a suitcase full of wrinkled tank tops and stretched out shorts and we slipped onto a plane (Lux sleeping like we drugged her….thought about it) to Northern Michigan.
My five younger siblings were there to meet us. It was astounding to watch my younger brothers who I still associate with noisy fights, violent wrestling, toy gun obsessions and entire summers spent wearing the same pair of shorts, fall over themselves to hold Lux. (They are now 22, 20, 18, and 15. But still.)
Between the heat of the city and recovering from the c-section, Lux and I have been relatively cut off from society these past few weeks. As a novice baby whisperer, I love to admit that I have no idea what I’m doing when she cries. Other people will take her into their arms for the first time and try something new that calms her that I had never thought of. Cheerful burping. Rhythmic murmuring. A gentle sway-cum-swing. Frequently I would hand her off to one of my brothers when she was fussing, and look over ten minutes later to see her blissfully asleep on their shoulder. Frankly I was a little jealous of their touch.