Rub a dub dub, cute babe's in the tub

If you're in the market for a good time, dear reader, might I suggest that you bring a baby (yours, preferably) into the bath with you? We did just that this past week, and found the experience to be quite delightful, if a little splashy. The Peanut enjoyed the water immensely, as you can see:

No, we neither took turns nor had one big family bath: these photos are from two separate bathing experiences. The real trick to the photo shoot is trying to keep it PG insofar as the grown-ups are concerned (with P Dizzle, it's no holds barred). Incidentally, we are super-awesome parents in the baby-proofing department - very first thing Peter reached for (both times ...) was my razor.

On a totally unrelated note, I had to post all six of the following photos, since they demonstrate three things: (1) just how adorable my son is; (2) his rapidly-improving sitting skills; and (3) his very impressive new hair growth. The blue leisure suit is courtesy of Nan and Poppa, Peter's great-grandparents, who have made time for some shopping in the midst of their snowbird ritual.

On the hair-growth point, those of you who have been paying close attention will have noticed that the Peanut was born with a full head of hair, then had a (dramatically) receding hairline culminating in the cul de sac shown in this post, and has now begun to sprout some new growth all over. This pattern appears to be common amongst preemies, and my best guess is that the culprit is head growth with which follicular growth cannot keep pace, probably because life on the mean streets of the NICU is so much harsher than the cushy life other babes are enjoying in the womb (well, in wombs, plural, to be precise). Anyhoo, Peter now has something akin to a five o'clock shadow covering the better part of his melon, and we hold out great hope that said shadow will in fact progress to a full head of hair.

5 Things you may not have known about Peter

Thing 1: He has enormous feet. I had assumed that people kept buying the Peanut little wee newborn baby socks, and that this was why they were all too small for his paws, until I took the matter of clothing the young man's lower extremities into my own hands. Turns out baby socks come in two sizes: 0-12 months and 12-24 months. I purchased the latter, and they fit (Peter, not me) perfectly, thank you.

Thing 2: He loves wood. We live in an old Arts and Crafts house in the West end, which comes with plenty of old gnarled oak trim, with which the Peanut has an (unhealthy?) obsession. He often demands to be carried over to a newel post or door frame, so that he can pat it, stroke it, and, if it's his lucky day, gnaw on it a bit (this would be an instance of Peter loving wood but not respecting wood).

Thing 3: He did. You may recall from a recent post that Peter has added the consonant "D" to his vocabulary. His current favourite permutation of "Ds" and vowels is something that sounds conspicuously like "I did." So all day long Peter compulsively announces his unspecified accomplishments, often in tones of increasing urgency: I did. I did. I did. I DID. No one's saying you didn't, son.

Thing 4: He's concerned about your health. It seems that now Master Peter has reached the hefty weight of 15 lbs., he's moved on to worrying about others' constitutions. Clear your throat or cough in his presence, and the Peanut will look at you with something approaching alarm. Reassure him that you're feeling fine, thanks, and he'll smile obligingly.

Thing 5: It took him almost three weeks to poop. A friend's beautiful newborn son is in the hospital right now, and my thoughts naturally wander to the time my beautiful newborn son spent similarly situated. Even in those early weeks, Master Peter's breathing was not too shabby, considering, but his digestion was another story. For days upon days, nurses tried to up his tube feeding from 1 cc every two hours - for those who are neither doctors nor followers of House, that's a mL - to a whopping 2 cc's. And for days upon days, we watched feebly as he sent bilious aspirates - NICU-speak for really scary shit - back up that tube. Twice they ordered abdominal x-rays. Google told us this meant they suspected necrotizing enterocolitis (NEC). In case the name didn't give it away, NEC is the black plague of the NICU, and we were scared. But the x-rays didn't reveal any plague; instead, it seemed our little man was backed up something fierce. The situation persisted, until one day, sometime in his third week of life, as I was getting ready to be discharged myself for the second time around, he pooped. And that was that. In case you'd forgotten, here's us then:

And here we are, now (thanks, Pascy!).

Have courage, little M.

It's Not That Late if You're Ukrainian

So, dear reader, I thought it was high time I posted some photos from Peter's Joyeux Noel. Without further ado:

The Peanut Family Christmas tree, all decked out with presents on Christmas morning.

The very pretty origami crane ornaments that Santa was so kind as to leave in my stocking.

The Peanut Family hosted Christmas brunch - which meant I got to double-fist mimosa and coffee in my PJs. Jealous?

Peter contemplates his great mound of presents.

Peter is clearly very interested in the card accompanying Auntie Liane's gift.

Auntie Esti presents Peter with his first dark-wash denim.

Everybody's favourite game was "Whose toy does Peter like best?" (Answer: whichever one is currently in his mouth.)

Peter cannot beLIEVE how much fun Christmas is.

Peter sports the pimpin' shirt sent by his Auntie Megg.

Peter with his own Personal Penguin - a gift from Grannie.

Brought to you by the letter "D".

This is what Mark and I listen to all day long: "dah-di-dah-di-dah", and sometimes "a-da" or "a-di" or "a-did" or, just for good measure, "hey-dad". It's D-lightful, but I'm sort of hoping for the emergence of "M"s.