Alex is six weeks old today, and I am about 400 (give or take). This shit is aging me at a rapid clip. It is incessant. If one of them is napping, the other one is eating (Alex)/screaming (Ian)/pulling my hair (Ian)/twisting the baby's leg (Ian)/grinning while committing some previously unpracticed violence (Ian). Yes, I have a textbook toddler who despises his adorable little brother and takes every opportunity to show it. I guess it's fairly classic; any attention is better than no attention. Although we still shower him with love and affection and the 3000th reading of Goodnight Moon, the interloper takes his share as well and that is apparently unacceptable. I don't know what I would do if Alex wasn't the sweet little guy that he is - two babies on overdrive would send me to an early grave.
But there's lots of good news, too:
1. I am still fat.
2. My company is in the news as rumored to be looking to sell the business unit I support.
3. No vacations planned until June 2010.
I really should have done this at 25 and gotten it over with.