A study of ears

I relish these few moments of quiet while Eli dozes. Still in pajamas at noon (both of us), we are restful atop our giant raft, the bed, wrapped up in blankets. The space heater blows bursts of air from across the room, warming us and providing a backdrop of white noise to sleep by.

I peek into crevices. The minute dimples underneath tiny fingers, all ten with their own little dents and creases, just like mine only soft and ageless. The curves of baby ears. How often do you get close enough to really examine someone’s ears in detail? They seem miraculous to me, the lines and half-moons of folded skin all connected. And they hear things, so many for the very first time, I keep remembering.


I can whisper “shhh, shhhh” and there is a response. A calm sweeps over him and his eyes stop clenching and just close peacefully and his fist goes up in the air in a slow stretch.

He won’t remember any of this, in the same way that I don’t remember being three weeks old and having people peer at me with such wonder and amazement filling them up as I slept.


There is no work to be done. The laundry is folded and dishes put away. Somehow I’ve managed to keep up with those few things easily. There are no errands to run, no grocery lists, no projects in front of me. Only this: sitting and watching Eli sleep, and studying his tiny ears before he’s old enough to notice.