Monday, December 04, 2006


Quinn turned his head tonight.

I know. Not exactly inventing fire, but the little guy is only three weeks old. Not spitting up is a milestone at this point.

No, the wee little man, napping on his belly, gathered the strength to lift his head up from one direction and turn it the other way. It's quite a feat, considering most newborns have shoestrings for neck muscles.

It's been nothing but breakthroughs for the good captain. He handled Dr. Good's snip-snip procedure last week like a champion, as if to say: "What? That's it? What else ya got?"
I thought for a minute that he'd already learned to talk before I realized that it was just an AM radio frequency coming through his baby monitor.

Daddy could use some more rest.

He's getting fatter by the day. Quinn and Daddy, that is. But it's more noticeable on Quinn. Grandma Smith is noticing that his legs, which earlier looked like they'd been stuffed in a bag three times too big, are now filling out. He's got chubby cheeks, too, though Grandma Siemers says all babies have that.

Dexie the Wonderdog, meanwhile, endured her own kind of pain last week. The Doggie Doctor removed her broken tooth, leaving a series of stitches to dangle from her upper jaw like loose strings on an old raggedy doll.

Mommy, too, has recovered nicely from her own snip-snip, stitch-stitch procedure that brought the wee captain into our world.

Looks like Daddy's the only one not to receive anesthesia in the New Mexico Branch of the Siemers family.

It doesn't sound so bad, really. I could use the sleep.

Today's picture I call, "Captain Fuzzball":

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