No Stories Here

When I returned to work a few weeks after Bennett arrived, one of my colleagues eagerly asked to hear stories.

Those of you out there with young’uns may recall differently, but in my experience there are no stories from the first month. He ate, slept, cried, pooped, peed (sometimes on me), and got a bath every few days. He didn’t do anything funny, though perhaps nothing feels funny on four hours of sleep.

That said, he has surprised me from time to time.

First, he does not hate baths, which floored me. He wailed through sponge baths as if we were wiping him down with acid. The first time we plunked him in a tub, I gritted my teeth, and what did he do? He sat there quietly, biding his time, burbling only when the water hit his head. Go figure.

He changes every week. He loves his car seat, he hates his car seat. He loves being swaddled, he hates being swaddled. He loves his pacifier, etc, etc, etc.

Less surprising are his eating habits. Sir was formidable at birth (8 lbs 15 oz) and he weighed in at 10 lbs 11oz during today’s one month checkup. Atta boy.

Of course what goes in must come out, and it frequently comes out with gusto. We refer to these audible evacuations as ‘butt explosions.’ He let one fly today just as the Doctor was discussing his admirable weight gain.

“He’s in the ninety-fifth percentile for weight,” she said, showing us the chart of national averages.

BLATT.

She blinked in surprise. “Maybe ninetieth percentile now.”