The sprog's doing pretty well. He's back up over birth weight and in a nursing frenzy. Today Chats and I both got TDAP immunizations, because there's like 300 cases of Whooping Cough in Chicago now and the pediatrician doesn't want us as a vector to him.

A lot of the stuff about parenting -- although at the moment "parenting" is a heck of a lot closer to animal husbandry than the constant suggestion, nudging, reassurance, and discipline our friends with talking kids engage in -- comes as no surprise, like that he can communicate only by crying and that dad's a rotten substitute for mom's teat.

So far all the surprises have been delightful, like how much I enjoy just sitting and watching him sleep, or the dozens and dozens of little expressions he manages ranging from thoughtful to uncomfortable to pleased (usually right after he fires off a big fart) or this happy gurgle he makes before, during, and after nursing. Well, one non-delightful bit: at night if I don't hear a noise over the baby monitor for a long spell (I'm finding that fifteen minutes is borderline agony) I start to get anxious for the next sigh or grunt.

It's more than a little scary that he's so dependent on me, a guy who only writes the amounts of checks in the ledger half the time (what did I do before online banking?) and will flick on the burner and plop down the kettle without a glance to see that the gas actually lit and has been known to use printer paper as emergency toilet tissue (well, when I was single and discovered I ran out late at night). I'd like to think that the kid will get the 10% of me that is talented and the 10% that is interesting and not inherit the crazy and the lazy and the churlish and the squirrely.

Time will tell.