39 days with Philippa Byrde

Crying is uncommon.

Smiles are not.

#423 newborn cries that never get old.

#424 the smell of her head.

#425 Skin to skin in the early morning.

Buttery baby breath. White milk tongue. I could write a thousand things I love about our baby.

It all goes so fast. So very fast. I want to remember it all.

She smiles when we talk to her now. Her happiest time is the evening, somewhere around 9. And the smiles and coos last until her Papa swaddles her tight and puts her to bed under the fairy lights.

She's a calm baby, with by far, the biggest eyes and the littlest ears I have seen. Her head is still full (really, full) of dark, dark hair.

She endures 3,749 kisses a day. Per sibling. And I busted Sebastian lifting her off her blanket on the floor just the other day. And today, putting (read: shoving) his paci in her mouth. (He's so helpful). Katharina likes to run to the side of the baby basket when she's crying and rock it back and forth, back and forth. Kind of like a sea storm.

We've all come to love her in thousands of ways. She is just completely adored. Her chubby hands and skinny feet. Her soft, rosy cheeks. The roll in her neck, and her little bird legs.

We are blessed to have been given such a sweet, sweet life.