The wee Fiona stopped by for a visit this afternoon. I’m about to take her home for the night, but thought everyone would want to give a collective “awwww” and then some of you who have been reading for years can say “Wow, we knew her when she was this big.”
And it would be like a communal, virtual group hug.
And no, that’s not my hand on your bottom. Unless it is.
Say hello to World Wide Runt #3.
Introducing Piers Edward, who today joins Fiona Evelyn and Ewan Quinn in the ranks of our little clan. He weighed 7 pounds 11 ounces, and was 20.75 inches long (if I recall correctly - when I next see the little info card, I’ll amend if necessary).
Mom and baby are doing well, and should be out of their respective recovery rooms shortly.
And then the real fun begins. For the next 22 years.
Well, maybe.
The delivery is scheduled for Monday, but there’s contractual (heh) evidence that things might happen sooner.
We’re keeping an eye on things (and Mrs. WWR is keeping a mucous plug on things for the time being).
Stay tuned.
Could be a big bunch of nothing.
Update: OK, so we’re at the hospital.
Waiting.
Update 2: And we’re home from the hospital.
They used the amazing miracle extensive knowledge of prayer modern medicine to hold off the contractions so the baby can bake a little longer.
We’re still on for a Monday delivery, unless baby decides it has other plans. Again.
I’m sure, like me, you have seen news articles bemoaning the lack of self-esteem among the children of America, and how this lack of confidence in oneself leads to unhealthy habits, poor self-image, and general skinniness and fattywaddyness and such.
I think I know why this has become a problem.
Songs like this.
It’s off one of those children’s music CDs that parents acquire through the years. I have no idea what the name really is; I just call it “The Sad Git Song.”
Fiona isn’t allowed to listen to it on my watch.
