Dylan At Two Months

I guess I haven't formally introduced my son here yet. Friends-in-the-computer, meet my son, Dylan Gregory Dadslast. He's a big boy -- 9lbs, 1 oz at birth and growing fast. The boy enjoys his milk, I'll say that much. His size gives him a critical advantage in withstanding the overeager affections of his big sister, who loves nothing more than to throw herself on him in a frenzy of kisses, shouting "I KISS HIM! I KISS HIM!" in his tender little ear.

Dylan is two months old today. At this early stage, it's hard to tell what he's going to be like, but so far the signs are good. He's got a pretty easygoing temperament and when he smiles, which he does often, he smiles with his whole face, and sometimes his whole body, kicking and wriggling and flapping his hands around.

He spends lots of time in a state of quiet alertness, just taking it all in with a rather amused look on his face.

Like all infants, he is capable of great fits of screaming, but they usually end once he's managed to coat my hair and all my clothing with a well-aimed stream of spit-up. (Who knew? Spit-up makes your hair shiny. Smelly, but shiny.)

And he sleeps for long stretches at a time -- a quality that may grow wearisome if it persists into adolescence, but which, for now, I consider a state of grace.