Claire is eight weeks old today. Amazing.

With the exception of an hour-and-a-half on Tuesday evening, there has been little crying around here. Well, let me clarify. Claire cries, but not inconsolably. Whatever we’ve done — the hypoallergenic formula or the Zantac — seems to be working; nature is helping too, in that Claire’s digestive system is maturing. In the last seven days her intake per meal has increased from an average of 2.75 ounces to 4 ounces. Her legs are getting chubbier. She doesn’t pull away from the nipple and cry, with one exception — when she’s working on the other end of her digestive track, it seems as though she gets to a point where she can’t continue eating and she’s mad about it. I can tell the difference in the cry.

In fact, the crying has transformed for me, or in me. I can now hear more what she’s communicating. I’m more confident in my ability to comfort or provide what she needs, and even if she just needs to cry, I’m able to simply be with her. She’s got quite a range. There’s the cry of Oh! The injustice and betrayal! that happens sometimes when she gets her medicine and we have “help” her swallow. (Tip: hold her cheeks together and blow lightly in her face. It causes a swallow reflex.) There’s the cry of I do not like this, change things now! when she’s put on her stomach for “tummy time.” She loathes that position. When she’s hungry, if we’re too stupid to realize it is hunger and we first check her diaper or offer a binky, her cry becomes angry: Feed me, you dolts! There’s the tired cry, which is whiny. She cries with inflection and nuance; when she’s upset and a binky is offered, she’ll suck mightily and moan in such a way that feels as though she’s saying, “This is just what I wanted, I’m so tired.” When she’s not crying, she also talks a lot: coos, eeps, squeaks, vowel sounds. I love having conversations with her. She looks at me now with recognition. The love-fest is mutual.

I imagine we’ll have rocky days, but I feel more settled and able to take them in stride.