You know Conor, in the grand scheme of things 50 days is really an irrelevant amount of time. I mean, it's not even 2 months! But for some reason the number "50" feels significant to me... Hard to believe you've been with us for 50 days... And if I'm lucky - and I mean really lucky, I'll live to see you turn 50 years old! Aww hell, I'll only be 88 years old... How hard can it be?!
Today was a memorable day, Son. Aside from it being almost 70 degrees outside on February 1st - and for all my years in Virginia I can't recall a time it's ever happened before (not as though I memorize the thermostat on any given day, but to be sure it's rare), you had your very first projectile vomit! That's right! After a three ounce feeding and just a few minutes of rest in the cradle of my arms - BLEHHHHHCH!!!! All three ounces... And then some... Because whatever was in your stomach before the feeding came out too...
I gotta say, it was kinda awesome! I had no idea that much 'stuff' could come flying out of something so small, so fast! And with no warning, too! Truly impressive... One second I'm marveling over how absolutely adorable and divine you are, the next I was dripping in a white milky goo. It was like something out of a Mel Brooks movie... (I'll explain who Mel Brooks is down the road, Son. Blazing Saddles, Space Balls - these are must see movies, Boy'O). In any event, now I can brandish the ever common badge of accomplishment in parenthood for Infant Puke. It's a respectable one I think...
Of course, after a quick bath for you and a hot shower for me, you were starving again. Though this time Mommy only gave you a couple ounces in the hopes it would control the Lion Heart's over active belly. The plan worked... And off to sleep you went.
I do love parenthood, Conor. It's a laugh a minute!
I love you, Son. Puke and all...
-Dad
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