Hey Jakey,

Quiet weekend. Well, shall I say -- uneventful. When you're awake, things are never quiet. You daddy and I have fallen into a rhythm, a dance really, with you as eternal third partner. I hand you off to daddy to take a shower, he hands you back and takes his shower. I hand you back and eat my dinner, and then we switch. Every three or four switches, you get a snack. The purpose of all this is to keep you from screaming. It works about 50 per cent of the time. We'd have the same odds if we just stuck you in your crib and hoped for the best.

Dr. Karp mentions some backwater tribe somewhere where the babies' feet don't even touch the ground for the first 100 days, because tribe members just keep handing the babies back and forth, then at 100 days, there's a ceremony where the baby's feet finally make contact with Mother Earth. This little family needs just a few more tribe members to hand you off to...

If and when daddy goes back to work, we'll be lost! Normally I don't like (actually, I loathe...) when daddy is unemployed and hanging around the house, but nowadays he has his uses.

This is funny. I found out today that Jane has already sent out her wedding invitations, and I didn't get one. Here's the story: she sent me an email less than a week after you were born, and asked me not to bring you to her wedding in May. How rude is that? I sent her the following:

Hey Jane,
I've had Jake for like -- a week. You probably could've found a more appropriate time to ask me that, but sure, we'll leave him at home. I'd suggest that you maybe put your requests in the invites, or maybe put a little extra slip of paper in the envelopes for invitees with kids, asking to leave them home, cuz if you ask people individually, it kinda feels like you're singling them out. Just my .02.
--Kelly

She emailed back, saying she was sorry. But, she mailed out her invites two weeks ago; guess who didn't get one. Oh well, hippy freak don't want us there, s'fine by me. I don't like her fiance anyway. He has white/blonde eyebrows. Real shifty-like.

Today's your 6-week birthday. I love you lots, but did I ever tell you how much I miss being pregnant? I've heard women say that, and I thought they were outta their minds crazy, but I see things differently now.

When you're pregnant, especially towards the end, you got a lot of nasty shit going on: hemorrhoids, peeing every two minutes, the sensation that you're going to just fall out. I had a lot of pelvic pain, like someone was constantly kicking me in the crotch. But you're full of anticipation: last day at work, last-minute errands you want to run, excitement that you could show up *any minute.* Weekly doctor visits made me feel pampered and special.

Then after YOU show up, nothing's about me anymore. I've been around for 35 (almost 36!) years, and it was *always* about me. Now I can't even friggin' take a shit without first wondering where I'm going to set you down. Want a sandwich? Not without getting you situated first.

As I type this, you're little Fetal Pig face is again fast asleep in my left hand. Your poor little pink rosebud mouth with the sucking blister on your top lip, your barely-there eyebrows, your darting eyes beneath closed, translucent lids. How can I conceive of a time before this? Before you?

When you wake up and immediately start screaming, I won't feel so warm and fuzzy, but I'll always love you, and I'll always get you situated somewhere safe before I go and take a shit.