He calls it tummy time

We're still in a heatwave that makes the red leaves and the nearing October rather strange. But the good thing is that when Henri decided to transform tummy time into a nap, I was able to have an iced coffee on the terrace with a book.

By the way, the book. Word to the wise. If you ever find yourself about to give birth, don't start 4 3 2 1 by Paul Auster. It's a great novel that shouldn't be read while you're only sporting half your brain because of contractions or delivery or infant feeding and lack of sleep. I may finish this before snow.