The baby

The baby sleeps, mostly; or feeds; but sometimes he stares about him with poorly-focussed and mute astonishment, an expression that borders on a kind of comical outrage. Sometimes he bleats like a little goat, and sometimes makes a series of rapid running-on e-e-e noises, for all the world like a dolphin. Occasionally he cries, which though never loud (his lungs are still tiny) is nevertheless one of the most penetrating noises I think I have ever heard. Unignorable. Then again, when he sleeps he looks more peaceful than any human I have seen; and sometimes his open eyes seem to articulate a kind of rolling bliss, an uncontending contententness, happy simply to look. Particularly to look at bright lights.