I grew up on hyperbolic stories of what I was like when I was a baby.
I only cried two times: Once when my mom stuck the diaper safety pin through my belly and once when my mom stuck the diaper safety pin through my side.
I didn’t sleep through the night until I was six years old.
I could read “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod” at 20 months. In my head.
I was the cutest, smartest, funniest, and biggest headed baby that ever existed.
And then we had Zach. Zach has not only broken all of my 2 month old records, he did so at only eight weeks. Some examples:
1. Zach spits up congealed milk for distance. My wife plays this game where she says, “Ok, Zach’s ready to be burped.” I take the boy with airplane sounds and hearty pats on the back. He sighs and coughs, but doesn’t burp until I look at him. He gives me a, “Here it comes, Daddy,” look. And then I’m covered. According to my mom, I never spit up as a baby. Zach must get that from his mom.
2. Zach can cry on command. Well, really, anytime I hold him. My wife takes him and he smiles and coos. He looks at the ceiling fan and he smiles and coos. When he’s alone in his dark room at night and stares at his eyelids, he smiles and coos. When I’m within a fifteen foot radius, he cries. I loved my father. Again, he must get that from his mom.
3. Zach pooped in his bathwater 11 times. And that was just on Wednesday. I was four years old before I pooped in my bathwater 11 times, though the last three times were because I liked bubbles. In this instance, he may take after me.
All in all, it’s been a special eight weeks and he’s a special boy. Ten years down the line, when I tell him about how he was when he was a baby, I’ll show him the pictures of him smiling at a stuffed animal. And tell him how much he loved me. And that his head was bigger than mine.