No theory, just emotion

Ernesto is the more philosophical, theoretical, and abstract thinker in our relationship.  I'm the pragmatist.  Practical, efficient, and applied.

When it comes to blog posts, he sees the big picture and puts things in context.  He intellectualizes many everyday experiences, though is equally comfortable expressing his experiences in rhyme, song, and with great feeling and warmth.

I stick to concrete and localized experience.  And when I think about our son, I think in dribbles, poos, burps, and grunts.  Excretions, expressions, exclamations.  In the here and now.

Lately, I've been overwhelmed and overjoyed by the mundane.

I stare at Santiago's poop like it's liquid gold (as the final picture illustrates).  I sniff his butt like a dog sniffs everything -- with gusto, curiosity, and glee.  When he pees on me I giggle like a school girl.  When I can snatch one of his dried, crusty boogers from his tiny little nostrils I'm overcome with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and pride.  I like to wipe them on my shirt.

The burps that cause his little lips to vibrate are treasures.  If I'm really lucky, he'll burp directly in my face so I can smell the sweetness of his little baby breath more deeply.

And his farts.  Oh the farts!  How they make us laugh and love and smile.

He stirs at night and I wake up to check on him.  And then I stare at his perfect little face and watch his tiny little eyebrows rise and fall as he dreams his sweet little dreams.  I lose many hours of sleep staring at his calm, still face.  But for every hour of sleep lost, I gain in unquantified ways.  In ways I can barely comprehend, much less express.

I haven't written much about Santiago because it's hard to know what to say.  These days I feel more than think.  I kiss and squeeze and laugh and cuddle.  But most of all, I love.  And love, and love, and love some more.  And feel so overwhelmingly fortunate to have this tiny little primate as my son.