You know, we have a pretty good kid. He doesn't cry much unless he's really tired. He seems to be happy nearly all the time. He laughs frequently. He's cute. He vocalilzes all the time. He's fun to play with. From all accounts he seems to be a big, healthy, not terribly fussy baby who sleeps through the night. While shopping at the Costco Home Store this past weekend Anya started chatting with another new mother who was carrying here new young son around the store. Initially we both thought that the baby had to be at least a month or two younger then Aidan - turns out he was three day's older then Aidan, just a smaller baby. The mother also explained that her son was still waking up every 4 hours at night to be fed. Yup, we're pretty lucky to have such a good baby - well, except for the projectile spit-up that seems to always target daddy's clean shirt.

There's never any warning; no whimper, no widening of the eyes - just a sudden expulsion of extra liquid nutrition that didn't seem to want to stay down; followed by a what I'm choosing to interpret as a smirkish smile on Aidan's part. Sometimes he'll target my clean shirt. Sometimes he'll really feel creative and get it all over my shirt and my pants then look at me with that grin as if I'm to award him with a gold star for the extra effort. "Way to go kid, you got it on everything I'm wearing! Take the rest of the day off and let's try and go for distance next time."

Yup, we're pretty lucky to have such a good baby... I keep telling myself as I'm changing my clothes for the third time.