Daddy's Home

Ryan's two months old today. To celebrate, my wife gave him breast milk sixty-two times.
Or at least that's probably how it feels to Mommy, the poor lass.
It's so great to be home and spend time with my wife and son, something people in "normal" families take for granted. (If you do - stop it!) We haven't exactly been relaxing -- had to get out our Christmas cards and finish up wrapping presents, and Our Boy the Attention Hog doesn't exactly sit up on a shelf like a chrysanthemum to let us get to work. But neither one of us is complaining. I certainly am trying to make up for lost time, getting to know the routines and my new son's expressions and moods and gazes and gurgles. He's just so cool and so adorable. I'm also proud that we've bonded well and he hasn't, you know, peed in my eye or something yet.
My in-laws flew to Washington Monday to spend the holidays with their other daughter's family, so we did an early Christmas gift exchange after the Redskins handed the Cowboys their half-gallon hats, 35-7 -- the most lopsided victory in their rivalry's history. Kind of hard to get a kid to sleep when you've got a bunch of people cheering every touchdown and Dallas mistake. Especially when the Redskins have a defensive player named Griffin. "Good play, Griffin!" Our dog, Griffin (no relation), doesn't know what he did, but he wags his tail anyway.
It's also nice to have my brother here, as he's been great helping out when we need an extra set of hands or an extra person to go BOOP BA BADDA THRPRPRPR to the boy to keep him occupied between meals. I still can't believe my wife has been doing this on her own for eight weeks. She's been operating on ten minutes of sleep a day since Halloween and she's still a beautiful, energetic mother. To think I was complaining about staying up late to write papers.
Sheesh.