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I've been told that I need to inform you that Dylan had his scheduled 2-month doctor visit a few days ago; wherein he weighed 12 pounds and 9 ounces, and measured 24 inches long. It is also my understanding that he was not so pleasantly surprised — are you, to hear this? — by the shots, and turned a shade of red that Megan had not previously seen.

I am also told that when Megan picked him up to comfort him after his shots he did his eight point something weeks old best to hug her, his crying changed and quickly curtailed — a sign that he recognized it was Mommy who was comforting him, and it was working. Mommy claims this made her feel "like a parent" moreso than anything else to date.

No pictures of said baby torture, my apologies.

Dylan, today you are eight weeks old… or at least you will be at 15:47. I don't understand why people say that's not two months yet, (Ok, well, I do… 52/12=4.333 so technically a month is 4 and 1/3 weeks… but that's dumb. (Because 1/3 of a week is 2 and 1/3 days, and 1/3 of a day is 8 hours… so a month is — on average — 4 weeks, 2 days, and 8 hours. See? Dumb!)) and I don't understand why people count age in weeks after the first month (full disclosure: guilty!) and in months after the first year… but there are some things I do understand.

I understand that when you smile — which you are doing more frequently now — my eyes well up with tears because I'm getting my first glimpses into your personality and it really is amazing to think about where you came from and where you'll go; and it all sort of flashes before my eyes during that instant, every time.

I understand that you don't intentionally pee on my hands mid-diaper change, or immediately poop in a clean diaper, or spit up on clean clothes the moment you're snug in your car seat; that these things are par for the course and that all things considered we are pretty lucky to have a happy, healthy baby to take care of — to change diapers or clothes for 3 times in a row. So I am thankful for that.

I understand that one day you will be 18, and (probably) go off to college and leave this world behind you, totally unaware of how much life has changed for you in such a short time.

I understand that one day you will get married and start a family of your own, and only then will you understand and appreciate these things.

I understand that I owe a great debt of gratitude to my parents for all of their love and care which continues to this day, and I hope to have the same energy that they seem to when you are my age.

We've finally figured out a secret to getting a good night's sleep.

Dylan nurses on a roughly 3-hour schedule during the day, with the last "day-time" feedings at 7pm and again at 9:30pm before we go to bed. On this schedule, we were able to consistently get a pair of about 4-5 hour stretches from him overnight which — let me tell you — was a blessing when that started. But by accident we found out that we can give him more milk (stuff 'em full!) at the 9:30 nursing, and he'll go almost 9 hours straight! Megan will pump an ounce or two after he finishes his 7pm nursing and I give that to him in a bottle after his 9:30 nursing. And voila! Sleep!

It's a beautiful thing.