And my husband thought I took too many photos of my nephew...

Maybe he's a little bit more than 50% Italian?

(he's certainly some percentage of psycho ham when it comes to having his photo taken)

Suddenly...

... it all became terrifyingly clear:
his social life was completely dictated by his mother.

The darkness

You know how babies generally like to pull hair?

Well, the baby who lives in our house likes to pull my hair right out by the roots and then examine the strands caught around his tiny fingers. Pleasant.

I'm not proud of this, but the other day I was so desperate to get a few more minutes rest after a mutual nap while he played on the bed (read, pulled on my hair) that I yanked some strands out myself, rolled them into a more or less cohesive clump and gave them to him to play with. Some days I gross even myself out.

I'm thinking of getting him some kind of doll or doll head with long hair, to save my own.

Really?

I can have my own blog when I grow up?

Boy

Time to confess that not only did I want my baby to be a boy due to my adoration of my amazing nephew Harry*, but also because of Fussy and Finslippy. Before I even wanted to have a baby, I'd read about Jackson and Henry and be floored by the cute and the funny and the impossibly articulate.

That's kind of shallow, right? Oh well, he'd be just as awesome as a girl.

Only pinker.

(* I now have another amazing nephew (and godson), Matthew, but I don't know him that well yet.)

The strawberry - a cautionary tale