Stillness is becoming rather inspirational. Our home seems so full of motion now. I compose this as Laura grabs some shut eye next to our cherub. Ryan had a checkup today, and the numbers are still resonating through our disbelieving parental craniums. Over seven pounds, almost 21 inches long, good color, great breath sounds, alert... the E ticket baby, baby! When Laura brought him home, he was fast asleep. I couldn't leave well enough alone, and scooped him from the car seat. Ninety minutes later, he accepted my apology with a final whimper.

After trying unsuccessfully to rock him to sleep in his portable crib, I found myself on the verge of falling unconscious on my feet. The past week has worn my immune system to tatters, and the lingering cough has produced some unsettlingly crimson results. "To heck with it," I muttered, and laid down with the tike in my arms. Laura snapped a photo of us in midday slumber, and like an idiot I'm unable to upload it. Maybe tomorrow.

My mom and stepdad dropped by with an outlandish gift for the boy. I'd describe it, but a picture is worth a thousand words. Again, tomorrow.

It's imperceptible at first, but as the days progress the entire dynamic of the home has changed. Ryan's presence hasn't flustered the cats at all. They are mildly curious at his outbursts and unique scent, but they certainly don't shy from contact. The oldest, Thurthton is doing exactly what I predicted. He's dying. He battled valiantly with a multitude of ailments until the boy arrived safely. Now the old man is letting go. He is tentative, and constantly gets disoriented around the house. He'll stop in a hallway and yowl at a shadow, and spends his days in the baby's room, nesting on a tall box in the half-opened closet. It's instinct. He's a cat, and knows he's vulnerable. A high vantage point will discourage an attack, though the only one that's coming is from our hands scratching underneath his chin. He's going blind, and has little hearing left. But his appetite is still good, and his gaunt frame is still draped by an inky and flawless coat. He has been the truest companion for almost half of my life, and I'll give him all the room in the world to decide when it's time. As a matter of fact, it's been a while since I've thrown a vigorous petting his way. Note to self...

Boy's awake, asking to be fed.

Thank you, God... for my silly little life.

Posted by: Paul @ 12:22 AM