She sleeps. When she sleeps, her arms lie wide open, sprawled upon her earth. Once awake, her eyes scan the room, looking for interesting things. Shapes? Colors? Contrast?
In the early weeks, her reptilian slate eyes peered over my breasts out at the sunlit world. Now, her eyes, deep blue, scan restlessly everywhere.
She grins. She hides her grin in fists, letting shiny squints escape her wrinkled face every now and then.
In the early weeks, her fingers spread out in delicate, feminine arabesque. Newtlet fingers. Now: fists.
The moro reflex is still intact. Diaper her with a sideways glance and she’ll whack her arms back against the padded changing table.
She sucks her fists like she did when she was born. She stares at her photo and then starts cooing. She does this to her giraffe, too. And also to her reflection.
She spits up and is starting to drool.

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