It has now been almost eight weeks since Lila came into the world. Fastest eight weeks of my life. She's at least tripled her mass, so it seems, since the day we brought her home in a car seat that swallowed her and a pacifier that nearly covered her whole face. Watching her develop day by day, as I'm sure you other parents can attest to, is one of the greatest pleasures I have ever had. In fact, it's safe to say, being a dad- that is, being Lila's dad -is my favorite thing ever. Ever. And I tell her that all the time. I think she's starting to understand.
At this point my parents already have my sympathies and a retraction of every eye roll and awkward retreat when they said things like "I can't believe how fast you're growing up." I've already told Lila to stop growing like eighty times. But I only half mean it, because if she did stop then I wouldn't get to enjoy the first time she seemed to be aware of us and the first time she laughed when we tickled her and the first time etc, etc. And speaking of laughing, they don't come much better than this:
Man, I could watch that all day.
I've also learned a few things about quieting a baby. Most of them are rocking and bouncing practices that come at the expense of my back (thanks for the tips David), but it's a small price to pay for a content kid and a quiet house at three in the morning. Once when Kelsey was in the shower and Lila unexpectedly decided she was starving, however, I did discover something that turns hungry fury into this:
Believe it or not that kid was in a full-on freak out just ten seconds prior. What could this uncanny advancement in baby pacifying technology possibly be, you ask? Well, it's this:
Does that ceiling fan remind you of anything? Like a big glowing boob? Classic Lila, thinking with her stomach. Just like her daddy. I'm gonna go see if there's a big glowing sandwich in the fridge.