On Wednesday morning, as I laid our child on the mat on the floor, placing him on his tummy, as I often do when he has hiccups, I noticed something different about his movements. I am, by now, used to him doing an extensive plank, holding his head up for a long enough time. Since yesterday he has also been keeping his feet together as they raised above the ground. But this morning he seemed to want to roll from his belly to his back, and surely enough, in a few minutes, after struggling to get his ass to move, he succeeded. It was amazing to watch the extensive coordination involved in making this movement happen. I returned him to the belly position so he could begin anew.

In a few days he will be three months old and he seems so strong, so animated, and so deliciously prone to laughter. He is more curious about the space his body inhabits and the people and objects that constitute its universe than in conventional toys. Instead of grabbing them, he prefers to practice his grip with my hair. Instead of being fascinated by cloth books, he is more drawn to the clothes I wear, and even my wearing of them. When, at the opening of the exhibition in Innsbruck, I was draping my gold sari, he was lying on the floor and he seemed transfixed by the flair of the fabric. I have been reading about how infants his age would be drawn to high-contrast colours on hanging toys, and yet he seems more excited by my red house shoes or a yellow blouse I might be wearing.