Without warning, as is his way, he suddenly pops off the breast, smacking his lips and waving his right hand. He rocks his head forward, laying his cheek against my breast like a pillow. Once, twice, three times he bounces it up and down, searching for the best and most comfortable spot. Finally he settles with a sigh. Almost as if by accident, his hand finds the edge of my shirt, lying atop my breast, and his fingers play with the purple hem; his eyes follow this play, occasionally roaming downward, toward my flesh and my sleeve, then upward to my face. These eyes of his, bright blue and deep as the cosmos, are almost completely dilated. They roll about, frequently going so high that I can see nothing but the whites beneath his lowered lids.

His round, soft cheek is buried deeply into my chest, pushing his lips apart and bending the lower lip inward, creating a small valley above the rise of his chin. His mouth is still wet with my milk, and a white drop escapes to roll down his cheek. I reach to capture it with my finger; a slight smile flits across his gaping, sleepy mouth before disappearing.

His breath has quickened with my movement. As though to fill the silence drifting between the two of us, he begins to coo - "Ooh, oh!" - with each exhale of air. His lids fall lower and lower, and his lip trembles slightly with the air passing over it. A slight aroma of milky breath wafts with his song.

Then, without warning, his mouth snaps shut, his eyes pop open, and he lunges forward, then backward and upward from my forearm. He struggles mightily to roll back onto his side, and his mouth cranes open like a little bird's as he gasps, "Ah!" and propels himself frantically toward my nipple once more. Then, latched to my breast, there is once more the sound of rhythmic gulping, broken only by soft panting and the Liszt concerto still rising from the radio. The baby nurses, smiling softly with only his eyes.

Someday, far too soon for my tastes, the baby nursing on my lap will be magically replaced with a toddler Sam. Toddler Sam will be no less sweet than his infant self, certainly, and he will have his own delightful habits and expressions. Still, he won't be a baby - not the baby I hold today. These days are fleeting, and if I don't move quickly to capture them with words, with pictures, and with memories, I'll be left with nothing but some outgrown diapers and too small toys. Sam won't remember, so it's up to me.