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What can I say? The feet, they had pumpkins on them.







Thursday, October 13, 2005

I've really been looking forward to seeing Riley's first smile. He seems very, very close to breaking out the on-purpose grin (as opposed to the heartbreakingly cute smiles and grimaces that float unbidden across his face when he's resting), and at six weeks old, it should happen any time now. During my ongoing obsessive scrutiny of Riley's facial expressions, the Rictus Of Flatulence has fooled me more than once.

Me: "Oh my god! He's smiling! He's smiling! Check it out!"
JB: *runs over with camera in hand*
Me: "Oh. Um, nevermind."
JB: "Phew, that was a juicy one."

Yes, I have teared up over a fart, and not just because of its deadly, deadly aroma.

I have to keep reminding myself that time is passing all too quickly, and I shouldn't waste a single solitary moment looking ahead to what's around the corner when everything that's happening right now is so amazing as it is. And while a first smile is certainly something, we've already experienced a number of interesting milestones, such as:

First 96 hours spent in a hospital bed (also, first time health insurance ever billed for 22K):


First real live miracle I have ever seen:


First love and admiration for JB not only as a husband, but as a father:


First overwhelming desire to saute baby's toes in butter and devour whole:


First really stupid photo idea:


First cagey expression:


First road trip, and subsequent first poopy diaper abandoned in hotel trashcan:


First of many minutes staring into bottom of translucent pacifier, mesmerized by weird suctioning sea-creature mouth innards:


First attempt by baby to escape crushing oppression of The Man by clawing path to freedom:


First crying fit captured on camera while photographer callously ignores child's bitter, bitter tears:


First obvious recognition on baby's face: hey, it's that Mom person I keep hearing so much about:


And finally,

First embarrassing holiday-theme outfit, so terrible and cheesy in appearance one can only wonder if the parent who purchased it has a matching adult-sized sweatshirt:

(They most certainly do not.)


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