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Ode to Boy.


My son is six weeks old today. That's right, my SON. How surreal.

We won't mention how he's the size of a three month old. Fee, fi, fo fum.

I feel like I should record some of the details, because let's face it, my memory isn't one of my most stellar qualities. It's not helping that the six weeks he's been on the outside seem to have literally flown past. One second he was a newborn, I had a lapse in judgement and blinked momentarily, and now he's six weeks old.

He smiles. A lot. Sometimes he laughs in his sleep, which is doubly hilarious because he hasn't laughed while conscious yet. He has angry legs when he's thwarted. Same goes for his arms, he thumps me well and truly when I'm slow giving in to his demands for breastage. He'd rather I went topless and stayed on the couch with him in my lap for easy access 24/7. When he's sad, his sad face is the saddest sad face anyone ever had. Ever. Most of the time I'm pretty sure he's my grandfather reincarnated. He doesn't have vacuous baby eyes... he looks like he's got something to say, and from the look on his face, it's something sarcastic. Hence the Granddaddy reincarnation theory. He is handsome and strong and stubborn and cuddly, and as far as I'm concerned, exactly how my son should be.

It's still super weird to change nappies with a penis in them, though. Just sayin'.


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