It's been a really long time. Sorry about that. I've been...preoccupied.
Otto is 8 weeks old now! Can you believe it? I can't. It FEELS like it's been much less time. However, most people agree when they see Otto, it LOOKS like it's been much more time.
Otto is fat. There, I said it. Well, maybe not fat...just big. Really, really big.
Trisha takes him to a mom's group on Tuesdays. Some of the babies there are weeks older than Otto, but he's still the biggest one.
Today I was showing off pictures of him at work. A medical student asked me if he was 6 months old. In my mind I shrugged it off as the medical student not knowing anything about babies. I scoffed, "No, he's only 8 weeks" (subtext: you know-nothing-med-student).
To which she replied, "Oh, really? because my 5 month old isn't nearly that size."
He wears it well, though, don't you think? He's solid. And if he weren't big it just wouldn't be the same. Like Chris Farrley...no wait, that's not a good comparison. Like Drew Carrey...no, he wasn't great big or small. How about, Elvis...no, he was much better small. Andre the Giant (Anybody want a peanut?)? Maybe Santa?
I know...like Dolph Lundgren! Remember Rocky 4 when he was HUGE and AWESOME (albeit the bad guy, but still pretty cool) but then he made a bunch of lame movies like I Come in Peace (AKA Dark Angel) and he lost a bunch of weight and it just wasn't the same. Otto's like that, but not Russian and not a bad guy and not a boxer and not really able to stand or say one liners...
Never mind, no comparisons. He's big and he's beautiful and I love him to pieces.
He's also already too cool for me. Trisha took him to Victoria last week-end with her mom and her sisters to celebrate her mom's birthday. Then, I worked a lot this week and was busy with a bunch of other things. I hadn't seen Otto much for a while. Tonight, though, Trisha had to run errands. It was supposed to be just the boys at home tonight.
I was actually kind of excited when Otto woke up from his nap. We were going to hang out. So I cuddled him. Crying. I bounced him. Screaming. I walked him around. Hysteria. I concluded it must be that he was hungry. I set him down to make a bottle, but as I'm making the bottle I realize that he's not crying anymore. Lying flat on the ground and staring at the ceiling is somehow more comforting than hanging out with dad. Tear. Sigh. Gentle sob.
