Fogged in

So it turns out all those rumors about new parenthood causing sleep loss, foggy thoughts, lethargy, crankiness and luxuriant pink armpit hair were at least 80 percent correct.

I don’t have think I have enough coherency stored up to eek out more than a few paragraphs, so this post will mostly be pictures.  Please don’t be led astray by any apparent glint of awareness in our eyes–the camera adds at least 30 IQ points.

So the initial rulings from the judges are in, and it appears the Boy has squeaked through the qualification rounds and into the finals.  He benefited from a high start value for difficulty in recognition of the enormous handicap presented by his unfortunate draw of parents.  It appears the judges were impressed with his ability to stay calm in the face of the mounting pressure … as well as his general scrumptiosity.

As the media attention mounted, he was forced to rely more and more on his two furry guardians to take care of the paparazzi.

Fortunately Grandma Yoder was here for a whole week to coach him on staying loose and limber.  Or at least that’s what we assumed they were talking about.  It was pure happenstance, surely, that the days after Grandma’s departure saw his performance peak in several key areas, notably peeing all over Daddy, a new Beaumont Avenue record in projectile pooping (hit the wall!) and snorting breast milk through the nose.

The time period of Grandma Yoder’s visit also curiously coincided with a marked reduction in clutter around the house, as well as the temporary ceasing of normal dust factory operations.  Freed by Grandma Ann from the worry about whether pollution might harm his performance, the Boy luxuriated in the (temporarily) pristine facilities.

As long as the house was getting scrubbed, it was decided that the Boy could use a little delousing himself.  As usual he resisted at first, then surrendered to the inevitable tiresome primping.

Price of fame, boy.  Price of fame.



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