there's something in the way she ...

~ lies on my chest, belly down, still-bent legs folded in under her, nappy bum in the air, already pushing herself up on her forearms to crane her neck and glance blindly around, looking for all the world like a lost tortoise ...

~ then shuffles up until her breath snuffles warmly, but so faintly, in the hollow of my neck, her tiny lips reaching out to taste my skin ...

~ yawns, putting her whole body, fingers to toes, into it, her biggest conscious movement

~ gawps around with her mouth open like a baby bird when she's hungry

~ performs bodily functions audible from the next room, who knew such a small body could expel with such force?

~ recognises my movements as I unlatch my bra to feed her and gets an anticipatory leer on her face, uncannily like a dirty old man at a peepshow

~ looks uncannily like a little old man, she's shown resemblances to Jack Nicholson, Anthony Hopkins, Dennis Quaid (may I call him old?) and various British politicians

~ is already louder, chubbier, more assertive and alert than she was at birth, a scant 9 days ago

~ sleeps like a little pink log, still and solid, the occasional whimper, a very rare twitch of the fingers

Conclusion: everyone should have a second child.
To be able to love and learn and observe without all the angst of a first-time parent, without the uncertainty and guilt and tears and drama.
I'm seasoned enough to know this is the 'honeymoon phase', these first few newbie weeks, but I'm enjoying it enough to relish every minute and come what may, she's done the work to ensure we're smitten enough to love her through it.