It's easy to see how Maria got a reputation in the NICU for being "feisty." She's been giving us the business this week. (This morning she gave it to me between 3:15 and 4:40 before I handed her over to her daddy and told him good luck.) When she's mad, she yells at us in a tone that clearly indicates she is not happy with our job performance as her parents, and unless we shape up, we'd better be on the lookout for some other little pink baby to rock and coo at.
She saw the pediatrician today, who was actually able to do a thorough exam because, and in this way she very much differs from her brother, she lay there on the table naked and uncomplaining. She even gave him a little smile after all the pokes and and the cold stethoscope. I'm pretty sure no one has ever heard Kurt's lungs or heartbeat or anything except his cry of ultimate suffering through a stethoscope. Anyway, the doctor man thinks she's doing very well.
Despite her little grin for him, we have no real, intentional smiles yet, though for all intents and purposes, she's barely a month old. It's funny to have this extended period of newborn-ness, and I kinda like it, knowing all the other stuff is on its way. I was so impatient for Kurt to hit the milestones, and this time, it's easier to wait for it.
Here are some representative states of being!
Worried (It's no coincidence that she looks the most like Kurt in this picture.)
Imperious. ("Am I to understand there will be no milk right now?")
Comatose. (Not technically a mood…)
Oh, and sweet.