His APGAR Was Off the Chain

We had our first well-baby visit today, and Young Old is doing great. He's strong like tiger, falls into all the normal ranges for weight and height, has a small head for his age group (being a pinhead runs in the family, right Mama K?), and released a dirty bomb right into the waiting hands of our pediatrician.

Atta boy.

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A few pictures from this past week:

Cold chubby cheek chillin'.

Push-ups on the gym mat. He hates exercise as much as I do, but he's pushing past the pain. He should be ready for the 2032 Olympics on Rigel XIII.

Dude loves his mama.

We miss you already, Grandma Fox. Now who's going to wash all these crusty dishes? Seriously, though, you kept us going these last two weeks. And Young Old already misses you.

Young Old doing that weird Travolta/Thurman dance from Pulp Fiction.

Our little titty tree frog.

Homeboy's first doll. They're already fast friends.

Sleep-deprived, utterly delirious, and loving every second of this (though I must admit, I'm counting down the days till Young Old and I can go drink 40s on the Steel Bridge and wax poetic).