Baby blues.

Two days with my five-month-old cousin:

I meet you for the third time ever; you look at me with a curious look on your face. Your mother goes to the kitchen ("Are you leaving me alone with her?!"), stays there for a few minutes but you don't start crying. When she comes back, she makes a slightly surprised notion that you're not at all afraid of me. You smile at me; I'm not sure whether you're laughing with me or at me, but at that moment I really couldn't care less.

You're sitting on my thigh. I'm terrified; what if I drop you or keep you in a wrong position. Maybe you sense my fear because the next moment you begin to cry.

Time to go to bed. You're lying on the common room floor in front of the television and refuse to show any signs of tirednes. I arrive and lay down next to you. I put my right hand rest lightly on your chest, look at you in the eyes and begin to breathe steadily in your rhythm and slow down my breath deliberately. Your parents look at us and wonder how you calm down all of a sudden.

Lunch time. You make it very clear eating the potato is out of the question and that forcing you will only make you scream louder. Your mother makes me help her by holding down your other arm that you keep putting in your mouth. Once we've shoved down the required amount (=all that went into your mouth minus about 59 percent that came out) your mother takes you and rests you on her chest. The big tears falling down your cheeks make me feel miserable.

We've taken a long trip outside, and you've slept through it the whole time. When I come back from getting the grossaries you finally wake up. I look into the carriage and you greet me with a big smile and a laughter. Afterwards we play in the common room. I spin the cotton mobile in the air but you stare at my shirt instead. I guess the Nightwish shirt was an excellent choice since you're always staring at it. It makes me laugh ad consequently you burts out laughing your baby laugh.

Your grandparents have forced you and your parents to pay them a visit. Dressing you up makes you cry loudly. I do the only thing I can think of: try each and every one of the toys within my reach. The cotton mobile does the trick: when I straighten my back to hold in in the air and spin it my shirt is in your view again. That's one good design... I hold my hand against yours and you grap my fingers. You pull them and laugh.

The dressing up gets on your nerves again. I lift you up from the ground despite of my feelings of inadequecy and rest you on my chest. You calm down and look out of the window. I'm not sure how to feel or how I feel.