As I am typing this The Bub is 8 weeks (and and an hour or so) old. We have been through a lot in these two months. Like birth. And a zillion poopy mustard diapers. And breast feeding trials and tribulations. And enough infant intestinal gas to float the Hindenburg. We've had a constant slew of wonderful visitors. Then we've suffered through acne, thrush, and conjunctivitis. We've had a few days when the baby cried all day, and a few when he's slept all day. And sometimes I may seem rushed, tired and cranky, but I just want to officially say that I am so happy to be a mom again. I love your little nose, your cheeks, your chin, Jackson. I love you down to your tiny toes that already smell like your Daddy's vinegar feet if we go two days without a bath.
And I will now brag about you for all the internets to see. Despite my issues with breast feeding, you seem to be thriving. Thursday at your checkup you broke into the 90th percentile for weight. Your little chubby self now clocks in at 12 lbs and 14 oz. You go kiddo.
And in totally (completely!) unrelated news, something clambered up onto our deck last night and left us a present. It must have been bigger than a cat, smaller than a dog, and full of undigestible berries. Yuck!