The little wicker basket full of baby toys is waiting to be turned upside down. I watch my nearly six-month-old son carefully grasp a teal key and lift it to his mouth. He discovers his world by tasting it first. When the key has been thoroughly explored, he cavalierly tosses it before he reaches for the soft owl plushie resting nearby.
Then, all of a sudden, this once quiet game of inspection erupts with sound. My baby begins to squawk and squeal. At first, he sounds delighted. But then the tone of his vocalizations shift and an edginess emerges. As his mother, I observe his behaviors closely. Even though my second son cannot yet speak, I understand that he is constantly communicating with me. Body language is real.
When he doesn’t settle down after a few minutes, I pick him up. He immediately buries his face into my soft, pink Mama Robe. I rest my chin on his black curls, and I feel heat radiating from the crown of his head.
Then, I know.
He’s tired.
I am highly attuned to my baby’s sounds, movements, facial expressions. My brain has been studying him since the moment he was born, tracking his expressions and categorizing them into patterns so that I can respond to his needs with loving accuracy. Sensations precede emotional states. In other words, I know he’s tired because…