Oh Baby I Love Your Way: How Infants Actually Show Affection

It was 3:14 AM on a Tuesday in November, and the apartment was absolutely freezing. I was standing in the middle of our tiny hallway wearing my husband Dave’s hideous neon orange high school track shirt—the one that smells permanently like old dryer sheets and despair—because Leo had just projectile spit-up on my last clean nursing tank. Leo was four months old at the time, and he was wide awake. Not crying. Just awake. And staring at me.

Dave, who's generally a helpful partner but sometimes completely lacks situational awareness, had put his "chill night mix" on the Echo dot in the hallway to help us survive the sleep regressions. Peter Frampton was playing. Specifically, that one song. And as I shifted my twenty-pound, unblinking child from my left hip to my right hip, my back aching in places I didn’t know existed, I found myself sleep-hallucinating to the music. Like, Peter Frampton clearly didn't have a teething infant ripping his hair out when he wrote those words. But as Leo aggressively pinched my nose and kept his giant, saucer-like eyes locked onto mine in the dim amber light of the hallway nightlight, I realized something terrifying.

This was it. This was his version of affection.

Babies are basically tiny, milk-drunk aliens who have absolutely no manners and can't form words. They can’t just hand you a card or say the words baby i love you, obviously, because they don't even have teeth yet. Instead, they give you these bizarre, sometimes physically painful little cues that you're supposed to somehow decode while running on three hours of broken sleep and lukewarm coffee. I'd literally sing oh baby i love your way under my breath like a deranged lullaby while pacing the floorboards, trying to convince myself that his refusal to sleep without being attached to my physical body was a compliment. Delusion? Maybe.

The intense staring contest of doom

Okay, so let’s talk about the staring. If a grown adult stared at you the way a newborn stares at you, you'd call the police. It’s intense. It’s unblinking. It feels like they're looking directly into your soul and judging your messy bun and your life choices.

When Maya, my oldest, was born, the staring used to freak me out. I brought it up to our doctor, Dr. Miller, at her two-month checkup because I was convinced my baby was broken or, I don't know, trying to memorize my face for nefarious purposes. Dr. Miller just laughed and told me that this intense staring is actually a biological thing. Something about their brains building neurological pathways for facial recognition and comfort. Basically, they stare at you because your face is their entire world and looking at you makes them feel safe. Dave actually looked up the baby i love your way lyrics once while we were pacing the hallway and joked that the line "I can see the sunset in your eyes" was just about a baby trying to keep their parent awake forever. He thinks he's hilarious. Exhausting.

Anyway, the point is, the staring is love. It’s creepy love, but it’s love. And honestly, it’s kind of the only validation you get in those early months before they learn how to smile. You just have to sit there, covered in various bodily fluids, and let them stare at you until their little brains categorize you under "Safe Human Who Provides Milk."

And yes, when they scream like you're dying the second you leave the room to pee, it's just object permanence kicking in, which means they know you exist and want you back, whatever, we all know that one.

Getting down on the floor where all the crumbs are

So how are we supposed to show them we get it? Because my instinct for the longest time was just to hold them constantly, which is great until you need to, like, make a sandwich or retain your sanity. Dr. Miller told me once that the easiest way to show a baby you’re present isn’t to buy them a ton of crap, it’s just to physically get down on their level.

With Leo, I spent an embarrassing amount of time lying flat on my back on the living room rug. We had this Nature Play Gym Set with Botanical Elements that I initially bought purely because it looked aesthetically pleasing and matched our couch, which is the dumbest reason to buy baby gear, but I was heavily influenced by Instagram. Turns out, it was actually my favorite thing we owned. The A-frame is wooden, and it has these little fabric moons and crochet leaves hanging from it.

I'd lie down on the floor next to him—ignoring the dog hair and the rogue Cheerios that Maya had definitely shoved under the rug—and just look up at the little mustard yellow leaves with him. We’d be face-to-face. No phones, no multitasking. Just me and him under this tiny wooden canopy. And when you get down there, right in their line of sight, they do this little full-body wiggle of excitement. They recognize that you’ve entered their specific little universe. It’s a very grounding feeling, assuming you can ignore your screaming lower back when it’s time to stand up again.

Stop trying to fix everything immediately and just be miserable together

This was the hardest lesson for me with Maya, and I still struggled with it when Leo came along. When your baby cries, every alarm bell in your evolutionary biology goes off telling you to FIX IT NOW. You rush in with the pacifier, you grab the swaddle, you do that frantic shush-bounce-sway routine like you’re trying to disarm a bomb before it detonates.

But sometimes, they aren’t crying because they need a new diaper or a bottle. Sometimes they’re just overstimulated or tired or frustrated because being a baby is honestly probably terrifying. My mom group therapist told us once that instead of immediately trying to plug the baby up with a pacifier, we should try just validating what they're feeling, even though they've zero idea what we're saying. I felt like an absolute idiot the first time I did it. Maya was having a meltdown in the middle of a Target aisle, and instead of shoving my boob in her mouth or fleeing the store, I just held her against my chest and mumbled, "I know, the fluorescent lights are horrible, I'm miserable too, this sucks."

It didn't magically stop her crying, but my blood pressure dropped. I stopped panicking. And because I was calmer, she eventually calmed down. You don't have to be a tactical SWAT team every time they fuss. Sometimes you just have to acknowledge the chaos together.

Speaking of things that only sort of work to fix the misery—teething. When Leo’s first tooth came in, I panic-bought the Handmade Wood & Silicone Teether Ring from Kianao. Look, it’s a perfectly nice teether. The wood is untreated, the silicone beads are safe, and the mint color is pretty. Maya honestly loved chewing on stuff like this when she was little. But Leo? Leo decided this specific teether wasn't for his gums, but rather an excellent projectile weapon to hurl at our golden retriever's head from his high chair. Babies are completely irrational. I still kept it in the diaper bag because occasionally he'd deign to hold it, but mostly it just became a very aesthetic dog toy. Any baby product is a gamble, honestly.

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Touch is their actual language

There's all this science about oxytocin and skin-to-skin contact that I only half-understand, but the gist is that being physically attached to you makes their brain release happy chemicals. Dr. Miller was always harping on the benefits of baby-wearing and infant massage.

I tried the infant massage thing once after watching a YouTube video at 2 AM. I got the special organic oil, dimmed the lights, played some soft music. I started gently rubbing Leo’s little legs, thinking we were having this beautiful bonding moment, and he immediately blew out his diaper all over my hands and the carpet. So much for the spa experience.

What seriously worked for us was just basic, lazy closeness. The minute I sit down on the couch, baby I'm summoned again. They just want to be on you. When Leo was in his worst sleep regression, the only way I could get him to sleep in his bassinet was to trick him into thinking I was still holding him. I used this Organic Cotton Baby Blanket with the Pear Print that we had. It’s ridiculous how much I love this specific blanket. It’s organic cotton, sure, but the main thing is that it's just the exact right weight. I'd wear it around my neck like a giant, spit-up covered scarf for a few hours so it smelled like me, and then when I finally, desperately lowered his sleeping body into the bassinet, I’d lay the blanket firmly across him (tucked safely, calm down internet) so he still felt my scent and the weight of something holding him.

It’s a cheap trick, but it worked maybe 40% of the time, which in baby math is a massive victory.

Trust your own exhausted gut over the internet

This is the part where I've to admit how much time I spent crying over parenting blogs in the middle of the night. You google one thing about infant attachment, and suddenly you’re in a forum where someone named EarthMama77 is telling you that if you don’t bed-share with your infant until they're three, you're permanently damaging their psyche.

I've intense anxiety. The idea of co-sleeping or bed-sharing terrified me to my core. I couldn't do it. I'd lie awake rigid, staring at the ceiling, convinced I was going to roll over and crush my baby. But reading those blogs made me feel like I was rejecting his love by putting him in a bassinet.

I ended up having a complete breakdown in the doctor's office about it. Dr. Miller handed me a tissue and very firmly told me to stop reading the internet. She reminded me that the AAP strongly recommends room-sharing without bed-sharing for the first six to twelve months to reduce the risk of SIDS. That was the medical advice. My anxiety wasn't me being a bad, unattached mother; my anxiety was my gut telling me what was safe for my specific brain and my specific baby. Closeness doesn't require risking safety. You can show a baby you love them by keeping them safely in a bassinet right next to your face, where you can dangle your arm over the side and let them hold your pinky finger until your arm goes completely numb.

Because that’s the reality of the baby i love your way lyrics, isn't it? It’s not romantic. It’s letting your arm fall asleep for forty-five minutes so they feel safe. It’s smelling like sour milk and giving up your bodily autonomy. It’s taking a wooden teether to the forehead and just sighing.

You pivot from being a cute, romantic couple with your partner into a tactical survival team. Dave and I barely spoke actual sentences to each other for the first six months of Leo’s life; we just communicated in grunts and frantic hand gestures over the changing table. We lowered our expectations so far they were underground. The house was a disaster, we ate frozen waffles for dinner three nights a week, but the babies were loved. They knew it. They showed us by reaching out their chubby little arms when we walked into the room, and by staring at us like we were the only two humans on earth.

It’s messy and exhausting and occasionally gross. But man, when they finally look at you and give you that first real, intentional, gummy smile? It ruins you. In the best way possible.

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The messy, honest FAQs about infant affection

Is it normal that my newborn doesn't seem to care if I'm in the room?
Oh god, yes. Newborns are basically potatoes with digestion issues. For the first few weeks, they can barely see past your nose anyway. They don't have the brain development to show preference yet. As long as you're feeding them and keeping them relatively clean, you're doing great. The recognition and the desperate clinging comes later, usually around 4-6 months, and then you'll be begging for the potato days back.

Why does my baby only scream for me and not my partner?
Because you're their safe space. It feels like a punishment, I know. Dave used to be able to bounce Maya to sleep in five minutes, but the second I walked into the room, she would lose her absolute mind. My doctor explained that babies hold it together all day, and when they see their primary attachment figure, they just let all their emotional baggage out. You're basically their emotional dumping ground. Congratulations!

Can I spoil my baby by holding them too much?
Literally impossible in the first year. Dr. Miller drilled this into my head. You can't spoil a baby who doesn't even know they're a separate person from you yet. Hold them. Wear them. Let them sleep on your chest while you binge-watch terrible reality TV. The laundry can wait. They need the physical regulation.

How do I bond with my baby if I hate getting down on the floor?
Look, my knees sound like bubble wrap when I stand up, so I get it. You don't have to be on the floor 24/7. Bonding is just eye contact and undivided attention. Put them in a bouncer on the bathroom floor while you shower and just talk to them. Narrate what you're doing. "Mommy is washing her hair with the expensive shampoo because it's the only joy she has left." They love the sound of your voice. Just making them part of your mundane routine is showing them love.