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23 December 2007

Hey Good Lookin'

I can - and do - stare at Ethan for hours.

Occasionally, when he starts coo-ing, crying or spitting up, he gets my attention. Then my gaze breaks so I can spring into action. Then I go back to drooling over this little booger.

Tonya and I made a miracle. It started with a piece of me and a piece of her, then split like a GE Stock Split until he had all of his faculties; heart, lungs, family jewels, etc. Science can explain all of that, but it is still a miracle to me.

And that little miracle started out looking like a little Drunken Irishman.

I have been told by many, many people how much Ethan looks like me. As a Dad, what a great compliment. Unfortunately, I reply sheepishly, I don't see any resemblance. Really. We have some baby pictures of me and I do agree that there is a resemblance between the baby in the picture reported as me and Ethan. But the problem is that I don't see any resemblance between me as a baby and me as an adult so the comparison is moot. When I eventually see a resemblance or see signs of his inherited brilliance (remember, it's my story!), I am sure I will be even more smitten if that's possible.

Newborns have a decidedly non-human quality about them. And not that is not is just different.

My approach to newborns is inherited too because to my family growing up, other people's newborns also tended to look like little alien life forms. And so I certainly did not expect anything different from my own child. In fact, for 9 months we joked that we were having an Alien Baby (the space invader kind, not the foreign visitor kind) on the assumption that he would come out looking like a beautiful, special, one-of-a-kind, first class Alien. I was right of course and it was still a hopeless love affair from the get go.

Now that he is over 2 months old, he looks like a little Michelin Man with rolls of baby fat and cheeks that rival the king chipmunk of Chimpmunkville.

How funny that we label our children who can't defend themselves yet, huh?

I am not alone either apparently. I overheard this doozy from a store clerk the other day about one of her lovely children at birth: Spider Monkey covered in Cool-Aid.

The woman who told me that added that her son - the aforementioned Spider Monkey - was born via C-Section and it took her a few days to recover. When she finally was able to unite with her son and her husband (now ex!), she discovered that her son was officially named on the birth certificate in her absence by her now ex-husband with a name that was particularly offensive to the woman. A thrown vase ensued. I can only imagine the vibe that occurs whenever she uses her now older son's name.

I assume we all labor over naming our kids to insure that it's doesn't rhyme with gayrod or fink or that their initials don't get abbreviated to something obscene.

If Ethan Michael M. ever finds displeasure with his name and resents us for it, at least we can tell him that it was better than his various descriptions as an infant.....

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