When he's in his highchair I can't resist: my hands find their way underneath to squeeze his legs, my nose to his nose as he wracks in giggles, squeals in my ear.

Three months premature and just two pounds when he was born, his first shoes are a size three, newborn-sized. He's two weeks shy of his first birthday.

As adorable as they may be, full-term babies are comically enormous to me now, linebackers. Under the cuff of these pants I can feel his calf between forefinger and thumb, his skin chilly there as it always is, skin soft, mine. I could look at this photo in fifty years and have that sensation as clear as today.

Someday he'll be a man, hardened and fuzzy all over, muscled and definitive both in personality and stride. And I'll remember him as he was, lying in humid incubation next to his mirror-brother, waiting for life to begin.

+++++

Baby-feet, lover-torso, sisters holding hands. Show us piecemeal photography today, will you?