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And Super!Archer bringing enlightenment to those Noble Savages called Vulcans. Don't forget him.

This is a really nice story which gives some colour to two overlooked characters. You mentioned earlier the use of Welsh, so I was curious how you would used that. Nicely done.

Thanks.

How's the munchkin?

He is doing great. Sleeps well, eats well, smiles a lot when I change his diapers and after I feed him . He got the same eye colour as me at this time, bright blue, looks nice with his black hair. And he starts making little sounds.

Awww. My eight year old begs daily for a younger sibling. I tell her she has to wait until her 21 year old brother gets married and reproduces. Then we'll borrow the baby every now and then. She's not satisfied with that, for some reason. Neither am I, honestly. I miss fuzzy heads and tiny toes and footie pajamas.

Enjoy him. He'll be grown before you know it.

Distracted wrote:Awww. My eight year old begs daily for a younger sibling. I tell her she has to wait until her 21 year old brother gets married and reproduces. Then we'll borrow the baby every now and then. She's not satisfied with that, for some reason. Neither am I, honestly. I miss fuzzy heads and tiny toes and footie pajamas.

Uh-huh. And midnight feedings. And 4:00 AM feedings. And 5:00 AM changings. And 5:30 AM changings. And 5:45 AM changings. And 5:47 AM changings that are just loneliness. And colic. And vomit on everything. And baby poop on your work clothes. And teeth prints in the flesh between your fingers. And fingernails in your eyes. And waking up with a knee in your throat while your spouse has an elbow in his throat. And temper tantrums. And spoonfuls of strained peas being used as catapult projectiles. (come to think of it, that WAS fun ). And screeching in terror when you realize they have somehow managed to open the kitchen cabinet and are trying earnestly to pry open the bottle of poisonous-substance-fill-in-the-blank. And going without sleep for the first eight months of their lives. And (for us poor husbands) listening to our wives moan about looking like a cow. Then, when we point out that they wanted this, being cursed like a sailor and blamed for the situation. Then, after the baby is born, being forced to subsist on dandelion greens and fescue because wifey dearest wants her figure back.

Riiight. All of this when a person is over the age of forty? Not for me. Nuh-uh. I think not. It almost killed me in my twenties and thirties. I would not survive to kindergarten these days.

LOL! That's why I nursed 'em all, BnB. It brings the figure back faster than dieting and you don't have to make bottles at 3 am. Just plug baby in and go to sleep again. Doesn't work if you're too well-endowed, though. Might smother the kid. Fortunately I've never had that problem.
My husband agrees with you 100%, though. Who do you think made me promise to stop with the 8 year old?

My mother only nursed one of us... and it didn't help her figure much

Distracted wrote:My husband agrees with you 100%, though. Who do you think made me promise to stop with the 8 year old?

A wise and prudent man, obviously.

blackn'blue wrote:

Distracted wrote:Awww. My eight year old begs daily for a younger sibling. I tell her she has to wait until her 21 year old brother gets married and reproduces. Then we'll borrow the baby every now and then. She's not satisfied with that, for some reason. Neither am I, honestly. I miss fuzzy heads and tiny toes and footie pajamas.

Uh-huh. And midnight feedings. And 4:00 AM feedings. And 5:00 AM changings. And 5:30 AM changings. And 5:45 AM changings. And 5:47 AM changings that are just loneliness. And colic. And vomit on everything. And baby poop on your work clothes. And teeth prints in the flesh between your fingers. And fingernails in your eyes. And waking up with a knee in your throat while your spouse has an elbow in his throat. And temper tantrums. And spoonfuls of strained peas being used as catapult projectiles. (come to think of it, that WAS fun ). And screeching in terror when you realize they have somehow managed to open the kitchen cabinet and are trying earnestly to pry open the bottle of poisonous-substance-fill-in-the-blank. And going without sleep for the first eight months of their lives. And (for us poor husbands) listening to our wives moan about looking like a cow. Then, when we point out that they wanted this, being cursed like a sailor and blamed for the situation. Then, after the baby is born, being forced to subsist on dandelion greens and fescue because wifey dearest wants her figure back.

Riiight. All of this when a person is over the age of forty? Not for me. Nuh-uh. I think not. It almost killed me in my twenties and thirties. I would not survive to kindergarten these days.

Kids are the same everywhere. BTW, I just hit the big 4 0 (my husband three years ago) and we have a little three year old running around (the cause of many broken nights...) Never though that I would be having a baby at this age, but live sometimes does not go the way you think when you are 20, but still I am happy.

T'Poptarts wrote:My mother only nursed one of us... and it didn't help her figure much

Ditto, only my mom nursed all three of us.

I suppose it depends on the individual. Some of my patients when I was in private practice seemed to use nursing as an excuse to eat everything in sight. Eating sensibly and nursing does pull off the baby fat faster than just trying to restrict what you eat. At least it did for me. Of course, my kids were all pigs. I must have been putting out 6-8 oz of breastmilk every 2-3 hours, and although I had to wean my son at 9 months for logistical reasons, both of my girls nursed until they were old enough to ask for it in complete sentences and unbutton my shirt for me. Then I figured it was probably time to stop.

Odd, that's when my wife made me stop too.

You naughty boy, stealing food from your kid like that!

Nah he probably just wanted to help his wife lose weight.