An Updated Picture of Noah - And the Most Important Lesson I've Learned About Parenting So Far...

I thought I'd post a more recent pictue of Noah, since it was difficult to see him in some of the other pictures. So far we think blue's his color :-) I also thought I'd impart some of the latest parenting wisdom I've gained for the benefit and entertainment (trust me...keep reading) of any current or prospective parents of newborns. My arsenal of parenting wisdom is growing exponentially each day (seeing I started at zero a just a few days ago any gain is significant). However, without question, I learned the most important lesson about parenting so far yesterday (Monday) morning. What is it you ask? Let me get right to the point: Husbands don't let your wives eat EGGS and breastfeed your babies. Now let me elaborate...

Yesterday morning I rolled into the hospital around 9 am in order to help Dawn get her stuff together and bring our new born bundle of joy home. I arrived just as she finished feeding the little man and was preparing to shower. Of course this provided the perfect opportunity for father son bonding and I scooped the little guy into my lap. Shortly thereafter, I noticed a ripe aroma wafting under my nostrils. I thought it might be something in the trash can and it soon dissipated only to return a few minutes later. As I looked around the room, I lovingly and tactfully queried my bride: "Honey, was that you?" She assured me it wasn't. Shortly thereafter, I heard a squeaking noise and assumed it was Noah's foot rubbing against his diaper. That is, until my senses were barraged a third time with an odiferous assault. I looked down at the little guy sitting in my lap with his head by my knees and the business end by my waist and began to consider the precarious position I had placed myself in. I asked the mother of my child what she had eaten recently, only to discover that her breakfast had consisted of a cinnamon roll, cheerios and...you may have guessed it already...EGGS.

Now I'm well versed in firearms safety owning several guns myself (SKS, 12 ga. pump, Glock 23 and a Colt .22). I know that you never look down the barrel of a gun and you always assume it's loaded. Yet here I was with the little one locked and loaded and the buisness end just under a foot from my face and he had been poppin' off SBD's all morning (Silent But Deadly for the uninitiated). I hadn't previously considered this possibility; call me weird, but it never occured to me that a little person only 36 hours old could fart, let alone do so repeatedly with a sent that hits you like a brick wall. But I had to come to grips with the facts: My wife had born me an 8lb 20 inch farting machine. I laid down the law for my darling wife, who was quick to agree: No more eggs until he's weaned! It took him the better part of the day to fully empty himself out and it was not a pleasant process, to say the least. Lesson learned and please learn from our mistakes.

I thought I'd bring this piece of hortatory narrative to a close by forming an inclusio of sorts. I point you back to the picture that I opened with. Were you oooohing and aaaahing about his increasing cuteness? While I did want to offer a more current picture, I think it is now appropriate to introduce the fuller meaning/significance of the picture. Let's just say the shutter wasn't all that was going off when I snapped this picture : -) Now that's what I call sensus plenior.