Even after a night like last night, having Fletcher feels like winning the lottery. That must be the difference between taking care of someone else's kid, and taking care of your own. He could sprout horns and fangs, and it wouldn't put a dent in how lucky I feel or the overwhelming amount of love I have for this miniature person.
He was having problems after bedtime, moaning and generally being unhappy all through the night when normally he'd be sleeping soundly. Instead of only waking up once to eat, he was continuously needy. Not crying, really, just having problems. The only thing I noticed amiss, though, was how violently he would rub his face on my shirt when I held him. Deciding that acne was better than this bothersome dryness, I applied some baby oil this morning, and perhaps that will solve the matter.
Because normally, he's remarkably and delightfully happy. He's turned us into a household of silly-faced, coo-voiced, smiley singing idiots.
When I put him in his feeding seat for the first time this past weekend, it was like I saw his future flashing before my eyes. I saw him as a toddler, and then a little boy, sitting in this chair with his cheerios. Even the picture I took above makes him look way beyond his
He's been holding his head up since the day he was born, but he keeps getting stronger and stronger... holding up his weight with his legs, punching and kicking, rolling over when the mood strikes. Andy said that from an angled upright position, he was lifting his head and shoulders forward all by himself yesterday, like baby crunches. Even Grandma Quandt, who's known her share of babies, says he's the most advanced for his age. Though I wish this whole growing-up thing would slow down, I can't help but be proud of what I see as his strength, determination, and a solid foundation for what I hope will be healthy and happy years ahead.
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