It’s a fine morning to post some photos of my shiny, factory-fresh baby son. I’m a proud new papa. I’m allowed to be self-indulgent (in this regard, anyway. There’s no self-indulgence at 4AM, when he’s screaming his tiny head off.)
Folks, meet Eric Emerson. He’s 8 weeks old this Saturday.
Heh. Thanks, guys. Man, those first few weeks were a tough slog. But suddenly, one night, he grinned at me and laughed, and I felt like a weight had been lifted off me.
This made me chuckle before even looking. Shortly before my son was born I was talking with my mother about names and said “or maybe we should wait 'til he’s born and see what what he looks like.” "Don’t be stupid,"she replied “if everyone did that all babies would be named Winston Churchill”
My wife also recently bought a set of stationery with the classic British WW2 propaganda poster “Keep Calm and Carry On” on the front. She says she’s going to use them to write kind, supportive notes to our friends who become new parents.
I ain’t saying the first month was like the Blitz, but Eric certainly can sound like an air-raid siren at times.
Dang, Ogre, you’re a lot less ogreish than I imagined. You do not appear to be “particularly cruel, brutish or hideous” here.
And YES what a sweetie widdow baby you have! Yes he IS! What a PRECIOUS widdow SWEETIE pie! I want to snarf on your tummy! Yes I do! I want to play wif your little feetsies and toesies! Yes I do! I –
WHAP
Oh! Sorry. Lost control there.
You have a very beautiful baby. Congratulations! Ahem.
