So I really had no intention of letting a whole other month go by without posting.  In fact, I was all set to post two weeks ago, but I couldn’t find the damn camera which had the entire month of May’s photos still on it, and let’s face it, no one is reading this blog for the witty commentary.  People are looking at pictures.  So after days of thinking somebody snuck into the apartment just to steal the camera (but not, of course, the laptop or guitars or recording equipment), I finally found it behind the Buddha.  Henry must have tossed it back there during one of his explorations.  So we’re back in business, at least until Henry get his hands on the camera again.

May was the month of talking:  mamma and daddy and eye and hi and bye and cracker (cacka) and sock (cock) and rock (cock) and car and up and book and milk (mook) and shoe and hot and hat and go.  It was also the month of independence and fit-pitching.  Here he is walking the plaza at FAO Schwartz, very pleased with himself:

My girlfriend Leslie’s daughter Silas decided that Henry needed some guidance, so then we had two small creatures wandering the massive plaza as the ready-to-leap-at-the-slighted-provocation parents watched on:

Now that the weather is getting nicer, there are many more outings to the park.  Actually, there’s always outings to the park, even on the coldest, shortest days of winter (so that Henry and I don’t start climbing the apartment walls).  But in nice weather, we bring the camera along.  This spring, Henry is taking on dogs,

dandelion fluff,

ice cream,

and his father’s acrobatics.

May 20th was my and Floyd’s third anniversary, and Floyd surprised me by taking the day off and taking me and Henry to Sandy Hook in New Jersey. We took a ferry to the Highlands, and Henry was so excited, we had to work very hard to keep him from flinging himself overboard.

After walking around the old military base and lighthouse (where Henry took a nap on a blanket under a tree), we walked to a nearby beach.  This was Henry’s second time on a beach (the first was at nine months in Oak Island), and it was a completely different experience.  He wasn’t crazy about the beach last August.  Now, I think if we had left him there, he’d still be happily digging in the sand with a shell, oblivious to all other worldly cares:

We went upstate for my cousin Nikki’s wedding on the 23rd.  While Henry didn’t think much of the wedding ceremony, he had oodles of fun hanging out with BJ and Ann and Eva and Jonah and Elena while Floyd and I partied at the Italian American Center.  He also enjoyed eating breakfast with Papa (or should I say eating Papa’s breakfast).

When we got back home, he equally enjoyed Grandma’s chocolate covered pretzels, which have quickly become his favorite, most begged-for treat.

Despite the talking, Henry is all gross motor skills these days - running, climbing, throwing and wrestling.  The other day I found him standing on top of the back of the couch.  Crazy baby.  I much prefer the wrestling sessions, though I’m not sure how Mr. Bear feels about them:

May wasn’t all beaches and dandelion fluff, unfortunately.  There was a three-week bout of diarrhea (his second this year) and some problems with crying and tantrums at daycare that led the owner to tell me that Henry’s the worst she’s seen in two years…but it’s late, we’ve had a great playdate with my friend Leah and her daughter Elsa on a cold, rainy day:

so why linger, or even discuss briefly, the negative.  Things are always looking up.

So it was Floyd who finally pointed out that all of April has gone by without a post in Henry-land. So I’m going to try to capture the entire month in one post.

(This photo is actually from March, pre-haircut, but he’s looking so badass I had to post it.)

Of course, Henry spent the first eleven days of April with his Grandma and Grandpa in Scotia, NY while Floyd and I took a 10-day trip to the Dominican Republic with Sierra, Sue, Gina, and Michael. I’m going to refrain from blogging about the trip (though I can’t refrain from posting amazing photos); instead I’d like to address the 12-day absence from Henry (with photos of the trip interspersed).

Vacation was amazing. I really thought it was going to be terrible, and I wasn’t looking forward to it at all, and I expected that I’d be flying home in three days or so. But it turned out that my mother and Floyd were right. Henry thrived in my mom’s care, and after a few days, I didn’t miss him terribly.

I missed him a little, but a few things made it bearable and allowed me to have a great time:

1) By leaving the country and going to a totally different environment (remote mountain farming town), I was completely removed from any normal routine that would seem strange without Henry. I think if we vacationed in another city and went to a lot of museums and parks, there would have been a great big Henry-shaped hole in our days. We stayed in a Belgium couple’s home in the hills with terrible roads, no hot water, no air conditioning, the most gigantic spiders I have ever seen in my life, and mosquito nets instead of screens. A lot of times, I was thinking, “Thank god we didn’t bring Henry.”

2) Vacationing with Floyd’s daughter Sierra, his mom and her boyfriend, and Floyd’s sister.

If it were just me and Floyd, I think that we would be tempted to talk about Henry all the time, which would just have made his absence felt more intensely. But with other family around, our focus was elsewhere.

Of course, there’s the flip side to this, in that Floyd and I didn’t get a ton of JUST me and Floyd time, but we were able to reconnect in a serious way.

3) Internet access. There were a couple of places in town where I could access the internet, and my mom sent me little missives everyday filled with the most banal details - when he woke up, what he ate for lunch, who came to visit, how many poops, etc. I saw that Henry was having just regular, normal Henry days. She also sent me pictures of smiling, happy Henry. They helped me be smiling, happy Michele.

4) Stand-in baby. Maria, the woman who came to clean the house where we were staying brought her four-month old baby along. Wilto was an amazing baby, and Maria was very generous. She let me cuddle and play with him as much as I wanted while she was there.

I only felt guilty before the trip. I didn’t feel guilty during the trip at all.

Though I really think this is only doable if a parent has a friend or family member whom they trust implicitly and who is willing to take the baby for an extended period. I realize that not all moms have that option. While my mom and I don’t agree on all parenting decisions, I trust her implicitly with Henry’s welfare. I mean, she feeds him hot dogs, but I’m not going to complain about that.

The only weird part was when we came home. Henry was a bit kerflunked to see us, and he initially preferred his grandma to us, which gave me anxiety. He seemed confused, and for about ten minutes I felt like I forgot how to be a parent, but he warmed up after a couple of hours, and after a day or two it was pretty normal.

And the only true regret: Henry weened himself while I was gone. I was afraid that would happen. He only nursed for comfort, but it was a comfort to both of us. And when I offered him my breast after I came home, he seemed thrilled to see it, and he went for it happily, but when he tried to nurse, he looked confused and pulled away and played with my belly button instead. I was so sad because I felt like the choice to stop wasn’t made by him or by me, but by circumstance.

However, I wouldn’t give up the vacation. It was important for me and Floyd. It was important to baby our marriage a bit. It’s been feeling a little neglected.

During the remainder of April, we spent Easter with the Battistes at Michele and Bob’s house where Henry spent all his time playing with their big, oafish, loving golden retriever and their less outgoing cat.

We also met my friends Leslie, Don and Silas in NYC for an afternoon.

It was a beautiful day, and the weather is getting nicer, and we’ll be spending much more time outdoors, less time inside blogging, but I’ll keep it up to date.

So it’s been one month since Henry has been in daycare and yes, I do miss him, especially on Tuesdays when I kiss him goodbye at 8 am and don’t get home until 11 pm after I teach my night class.  But that makes our days home together much sweeter, and now that the weather is turning nicer, we’re spending a lot more time outdoors where Henry can run and climb and make friends and gather sticks to his heart’s content.  And he’s totally digging his new outdoor look:

The down side of daycare is the whole shared illness issue, though the fact that he’s gone to the gym childcare since he was six months old has helped to build up his immune system.  But a month into daycare, he caught a monster cold (with some croup cough) that he passed on to me and Floyd (thrilling), AND it ended up that he also had impetigo, a skin staph infection.  To be honest, he could have caught both at the doctor’s office, where he had been three days previous, or at the gym childcare.  The cold was worse than the infection, though, and I thought the antibiotics were going to be worse than the infection, too.  The first time he was on antibiotics, the diarrhea was awful and the diaper rash was severe, and everyone was miserable.  This time, we gave Henry probiotics with the antibiotics and it’s a totally different experience.  The infection cleared up in a few days, and other than one instance of diarrhea, Henry never missed a step in his effort to stay in constant motion.  If you look closely in this picture (where Henry is playing cowboy/play with the radio/balance on high with Floyd) you might see a little sore on his nose.

That was the skin infection.  I was unable, however, to capture adequately the unending flow of baby snot that lasted for five days.  Yuck.

Yesterday, we gave Henry his first haircut at Mr. Leo’s, Floyd’s barber on the corner.  The place is an anachronism, with antique barber chairs and a child’s seat that looks ripe for a lawsuit.  Mr. Leo’s price menu, written in colored pencil on the wall, reads like this: Men’s haircut - $12, Children’s haircut - $12, Shampoo - $6, Long Hair - $13.  It wasn’t terrible.  We gave Henry a lollipop to suck on during the haircut (a rare treat) and he didn’t even seem to notice while Mr. Leo cut the back.  When Mr. Leo got to the sides, though, Henry was, uhm, displeased and let us know.  Mr. Leo was a trooper, though, and with mommy giving Henry lots of big hugs and helping to hold him in place, we got through it.  I think the whole process lasted about four minutes, and resulted in:

He looks like a totally different baby!  Let’s look at Exhibit A, taken yesterday while Henry explored his Easter box from his Grammy Sue:

Now he looks like such a little boy.  That’s it.  That’s what’s so hard to take.  He went from being a baby to a little boy in one four-minute span of a few scissor strokes.  Ah, me.  I wish I waited.  I can’t ever go back now to that shaggy-haired little goof.

On Friday he got into a little mischief: turning a potted plant on the windowsill into a small sand-box on the floor:

He’s starting to climb everywhere now - onto the top of the couch, the chairs, the toilet to reach the sink -  and he drags a little travel cooler over to the drawers in the kitchen so he can pull them out and explore their contents.  He can reach the counters and he tries to pull everything he can reach down.  I guess even if I didn’t cut his hair he’d keep on growing, anyway.  Still he loves to be close to his mama, even during chores (especially during chores):

And he’s still got a long way to go before he truly grows up.

I don’t miss him.  Isn’t that horrible?   It’s been officially one whole week of daycare (well, Monday was a snow day, so daycare was closed, so I split the day with Floyd, which really means Floyd went to work and didn’t get home until 3:45 so I could go to work, but whatevs), and I don’t miss him when he’s gone.  I know it’s only been two days, and maybe the novelty of actually putting on real pants and talking to adults about things other than teething and poop will wear off, but I don’t miss him.

I don’t miss him much.  I mean, when I’m on the subway on my way to pick him up, then I start to miss him a little.  And when I get there and I see him, then I miss him tons.  I sort of retro-miss him.  But all day at work, I’m too busy to miss him.

Maybe I’d miss him more if he didn’t seem to be adjusting to daycare so well.  I know.  Two days.  But he’s been great.  And the ladies love him.  And he’s been eating well and sleeping well and playing well, and he’s been generally very jolly.  AND…I don’t think he misses me.  True, we’ve been stuck inside all winter, staring at each other and wonder when the hell we’ll be able to bust out, so it may be, again, novelty, but I think he’s really enjoying it.  We’ll see how I feel in a couple of weeks.

Henry’s starting to pick things up fast and furious.  He can point to his head, mouth,hand, and foot when you ask him.  When you ask him, “Where’s your belly,” he’ll lift up his shirt and slap it like it’s a melon.  I spent weeks asking him over and over, “Where’s your belly, Henry?  Here it is!  Where’s your belly?  Is this your belly?  I’m going to get your belly!  I got it!”  And after weeks of this, he still seemed to be clueless about his belly, which is hard to believe since it is the biggest thing about him.  So a few days ago, out of boredom, I asked him, “where’s your head?” He tapped his head.  So I tried, “Where’s your mouth?”  He stuck his hand in his mouth.  So again, “Where’s your belly?”  He looked at me like I was nuts.  Like I was the one who was nuts.  Crazy baby.  The finally he got it, or finally he decided to stop torturing his mama, or finally he decided that he had enough of his mama maniacally asking him every ten minutes in a hyper-cheery voice, “Where’s your belly?”

So what’s this about the baby playing the blues.  Oh, it’s nothing.  Just a little harmonica playing.  That’s right.  This morning, Henry picked up the harmonica that Floyd has been playing the last few days and started jamming.  He hasn’t put it down.  He even played harmonica in the grocery store.  I should get him a tin cup.  Crazy baby.

How crazy?  He fell asleep in his backpack (I carry him in the backpack on short trips, when it’s really cold, or when the sidewalks are bad).  The backpack tipped over when I put it down on the bed while he was asleep inside it.  This is how he reacted:

My friend Jill recently told me that the period between January 1st and March 31st in NYC is called the “Bleak Streak.”  The holidays are over, it’s cold, the streets are dreary, no one goes out, and there’s nothing going on.  For Henry and me, the bleak streak has been all about being cooped up in our one-bedroom apartment and getting really bored with each other.  We go to a great playgroup on Wednesdays and have the occasional play date with Jill and her son Julian, but I’ve taken to going to the gym almost every day just so Henry can socialize at the gym childcare and I can have an hour to myself.  Granted, that hour is usually spent listlessly pedaling on a stationary bike while reading gossip magazines, but I’ll take what I can get.

We also get outside when we can, which hasn’t been too often these last couple of weeks.  Still, we did manage to get to Central Park Zoo with our friend Karen.

Henry was mightily impressed with the the penguins.  The polar bears - not so much.  We also visited our friends Bob and Elaine, and by the end of the visit, Henry was sitting on Elaine’s lap quietly letting her sneak kisses on his head.

We’ve also gone to the New York Hall of Science three times.  They have a toddler room.  Henry has a lot of work to do there.

He’ll let his daddy help in the investigations, but only for a little while before Henry shrugs him off and moves on to more important tasks.

It also seemed like Henry was going through a static streak of his own.  Not bleak or troubling, just static, like he hit a developmental plateau and was happy to hang out there and enjoy the view for a while.  He spent weeks doing all his happy Henry things - running about, playing with his toys, babbling to us and to himself, dancing his little dances - but it didn’t seem as if he was making any developmental progress.

Then all of a sudden, about a couple of weeks ago, things started getting interesting.  Henry started figuring things out.  He realized that when he heard the buzzer that daddy was going to walk through the door within a minute, so he would run to the door and wait for him.  He started rummaging through the diaper bag to find the containers of pretzels or goldfish that he knew were in there.  He figured out how to take the lid off said containers and wander into the bedroom with a container tucked in the crook of his arm while shoving handfuls of treats into his mouth like a regular teenager.  He began making vroom vroom noises as he ran his cars along the carpet.  He knows that all the interesting things are kept up high, so he always asks to be picked up so he can get to them.  I think he’s saying, or is close to saying, mama, dada, hot, and up.  He gives kisses when I ask him for kisses.  He brings me a ball when I ask him for a ball.  He brings me a car when I ask him for a car.

Just two days ago, Floyd and I were watching a PBS show on dogs and cats.  Henry, who usually pays no attention to the TV, stared and pointed at the animals.  We said, “Yes, Henry.  That’s a cat.  Cat.  That’s a dog. Dog.”  He made his sweet little baby noises and toddled off to go play some more.  We thought that was that, but in a minute he’s back holding out to us his stuffed cat.  We of course congratulate him and praise him and say things like, “You’re right, Henry.  That’s your cat.”  He hugs it and shakes it and is very proud of himself and once again toddles off.  Again, that’s that.  But he comes back, this time holding out his stuffed dog, and the congratulations happen all over again.  He’s proud, we’re proud, and all is right in the Battiste/Gabriel household.

And all is changing.  On January 17th, I started teaching a night class once a week and Henry got a regular Tuesday night babysitter.  Now I’m going back to work three days a week starting February 26th and Henry will be starting daycare!   He’ll be 15 months and I think we’re both finally ready.  He’s going to Happy Days Daycare.  Here’s to adventures without mommy.

Oh, and another milestone.  I went to a conference for three whole days without Henry OR Floyd.  Mom and Wil came to help out in my absence.  Photos to come!

On December 17th, Henry and I packed it up, left behind the NYC winter and Christmas crowds (and our favorite playgroup),

to visit his Grammie Sue in Houston. The trip started out on shaky ground; we flew with a minor ear infection (with the doctor’s okay), and when we arrived, Henry was drowsy and clingy from the the antibiotics he was taking. That, coupled with what I like to call a “major teething event” and an antibiotic-induced, prolonged bout of diarrhea, made Henry not the best company. The flight wasn’t bad - I finagled the entire last row to ourselves - but once in Houston, Henry mainly wanted to be held (by me) and to sleep (with me) and to nurse (on me). He did have seven teeth (four of them molars!) coming in at once, so I can understand his misery. Still, he did manage to cheer up and to charm his Grammie.

He immediately found and claimed the froggy chair she bought him:

And he really enjoyed the warm weather and Grammie Sue’s back porch.

I especially loved that it was enclosed. When we woke up in the mornings, the first thing we did was open the back door and go outside. Henry ran in and out while I made his breakfast, and he generally spent most of his time at home in and out the door. When we finally move, I won’t settle for anything less than an apartment with outdoor access! It was dreamy.

Henry also enjoyed showing off to his Grammie Sue. He showed her “gimme five,” his newly refined skills at physical mimicry, and his talent at catch.

Still, nights were difficult, and the diarrhea caused Henry terrible, terrible diaper rash. So I made the decision to take him off the antibiotics for a few days to give his body time to recover. I also wanted Sue to get a chance to see Henry in his usual mischievous form. This turned out to be a mistake. Sierra and Floyd were coming to join us in a few days, and I was looking forward to the reinforcements!

Sierra arrived the day before Christmas, and the atmosphere in the house immediately became much more celebratory. Henry LOVED playing with his big sister:

Sierra’s in the sixth grade now, sings like Whitney Houston and is a total fashionista. And while you can definitely see the family resemblance, I wouldn’t say it was in the legs. Check out Henry’s pork chops compared to Sierra’s mile-long gams!

Notice, also, Henry’s blanket, which we call his cozy. He’s become Linus-like in his attachment to it. He carries it around all over the house. We haven’t yet gotten to the point where he has to have it, but when he sees it, he wants it.

The next day was Christmas, and Floyd arrived just in time for a Christmas dinner that Marilyn Sue and I spent two days making. Sue’s friend Leslie came over and joined us for dinner (she’s another Wichita transplant who came out to Houston alone), and after dinner we all played a game that Sierra made up called “Super Star.” It involved various combinations of singing, dancing and acting. Very sad I didn’t get any photos of that. Afterward, we had a great time opening up presents:

A very fun Christmas, even though Henry woke up with a fever. I was a little worried, but figured it was teething-related and dosed him with Tylenol. It didn’t seem to dampen his, or anyone’s, spirits.

The next day, Sue had to work, so Floyd, Sierra, Henry and I piled into Sue’s car and drove out to Galveston. Yet another instance where I forgot my camera. It’s a shame because post-Hurricane Galveston was very interesting, part heart-breaking, part hopeful. While much rebuilding has taken place, there are still many spots where the devastation is evident. Driving in to Galveston, we noticed power boats and sailboats beached and toppled dozens of yards from the shore. Refurbished buildings stood next to wrecked buildings, and detritus was still piled everywhere. East Beach, which was once Galveston’s main attraction, was a two-mile stretch of debris. No beach was visible. Still, we enjoyed playing on West Beach and touring the city.  Lots of people were out, and the restaurants were full.  Henry still had a fever, and I was getting a little worried (and a little worn out), but we kept the fever down with tylenol and he seemed to be okay. Subdued, but okay. I re-started the antibiotics that morning (after three days off) and figured that would help to make him better.

When Saturday came and he still had a fever, I called the doctor. He suggested that I bring him in to see somebody. It being a Saturday on a holiday weekend, no doctor’s office was opened. I wanted to bring Henry to the emergency room, but Floyd insisted it wasn’t an emergency, so we didn’t. However, I was at the end of my rope caring for a sick, then teething, then feverish baby, so Floyd took both Henry and Sierra out for the day while I had a much needed nap, a much needed walk on my own, and a much needed couple of hours of retail therapy (Sue lives within walking distance of a really posh shopping center). By the time we all reconvened that night, I felt much better.

On Sunday, Henry’s fever had broke and I was beside myself with relief. He never had three straight days of fever before, and it was a harrowing experience for me. While he was still out of sorts, he was much more like his old self, and there was hope that Sue would actually get some time with her grandson while he was healthy and happy. Sue had the day off, and we all went to NASA. As you can see, Sierra was very excited:

While Sue, Floyd and Sierra took a tram tour of mission control and the warehouse where they stored rockets, Henry and I played in the museum section:

Check out the little boy peeking behind the seat in this next picture. Henry tried to play with him, but he was too shy. It’s very cute to see Henry trying to make friends, especially when he does it by hugging and not by whacking them in the face (his initially preferred method).

When Floyd, Sies and Sue got back, Sies also took at turn at playing on some of the NASA equipment:

She says she wasn’t any good at trying to complete the set tasks while trying to navigate the chair around the platform (that was shooting out a layer of air, much like an air-hockey table), but I this she did great.

That night, Sies’ Grandma Myra picked her up to bring her back to Wichita. We all missed her. The visit was much too short. Hopefully, we can work out a way that she can spend some time in the summer with us in New York.

Floyd flew back to New York on Monday, so it was once again Sue, Hank and me for the next couple of days. FINALLY, Henry was completely back in his oxymoronic usual/rare form:

I found a park nearby that we could walk to, and the weather turned spectacular (high 70s, low 80s, lots of sunshine) so we spent the next two days playing outside as much as possible. Henry’s running a bit now, especially when he sees the camera:

And he had a lot of fun trying to keep up with the big boys. He follows them around, but they all move too quickly for him. Fortunately he doesn’t mind. All that activity in his proximity is thrilling enough:

He always finds time, however, for a snack. How else could he keep that belly in such pristine condition?

On Tuesday night, however, we had to pack it all back up again (of which I did a horrible job. I was so focused on remembering my clothes (which where scattered everywhere) and fitting all the Christmas presents, that I forgot most of Henry’s clothes. Great mother, right? Sue ended up having to mail half of Henry’s wardrobe to me) and head home on Wednesday. This time, the flight didn’t go so well. Henry was full of beans and we had to share the row with two others. I was hoping that one would move to the empty seat two rows back, but I just happened to get the only row with two hip, young gay men who were thrilled to be seated next to each other and talked the whole flight about the permanence of love and the best places to party in NYC.

The one sitting next to us was dressed in some very fine duds (it was New Year’s Eve) for his first trip to NYC. Henry managed to get both yogurt covered pretzel and lime lollipop on the man’s jacket. Because he couldn’t see it (it was on his sleeve) I debated drawing his attention to the mess. But my conscience won out, and I pointed it out while handing him some wipes. He was, uhm, tolerant. I was very happy when we landed. Floyd met us at the airport, and it felt good to be home. Henry, however, already missed his Grammie Sue. You can see why:

Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for most of the guests who attended the party, but we’ll get to that.  It was an awesome party.  Lots of family (here with cousin Alissa),

a few friends (here with Lily, Ann, Elena and Eva),

and a big delicious butter cream-frosted, chocolate mousse-filled marble cake from Villa Italia.  As you can see, Hank is as big of a sucker for sweets as his mama.

He got lots of wonderful clothes, books and new toys, which is great because he’s getting a little bored with some of his old ones.  At least, I thought he was.  Just as I decide it’s time to get rid of some of those newborn rattles and the hedgehog teether, he goes into the toy box, pulls them out, and starts playing with them (and by playing, I mean carrying them around the house and depositing them in places I’d never think to look.  Right now, his favorite places are the recycling bin and the bottom drawer of his bureau, though he’s also now interested in fitting things inside other things.  The other day I found his shoe inside my shoe, and he stuffed a piece of cream-cheesed English muffin into a travel tooth-brush cover.).  His favorite new toy is a guitar that plays licks from popular songs when he presses the frets.  It has a whammy bar (I think it’s called a whammy bar) and it plays notes on top of the licks when he strums the strings.  Right now, Floyd and I go around the house singing, “Hey now, you’re a rock star, get your game on, go play…” and “wild thing, you make my heart sing, you make everything crazy…”.

So the party was a great success…until the next night.   Seems a full two-thirds (that’s 28 people out of 42) of our guests came down with a violent stomach bug within hours of toasting Henry’s first year.  I can’t believe the list of casualties.  Floyd wants me to list the names, but I thinks the numbers say enough.  It looks like my mom was the culprit.  She and Wil came back from Turkey on Tuesday, and she didn’t feel well at all.  We all chalked it up to jet lag, but then on Thursday (Thanksgiving), she got it at both ends.  Plans for the party looked shaky, but Wil and I went shopping on Friday and started the food prep  while she rested.  Even Floyd pitched in.  She was feeling better by Friday night and was almost her old self by Saturday morning.  Since none of us had gotten sick, we figured that it was something that she ate in Turkey and wasn’t contagious.  So we decided to go ahead with the party (well, Floyd still thought we should cancel it, and in hindsight, it looks like he was right).  Then on Saturday night, the night of the party, right before we cut the cake, Wil went upstairs to rest because he was overcome with nausea.  He never came back down.  Still, we never imagined that we got the entire guest list sick.  But on Monday morning the calls started coming in.  What a disaster.  I hope everyone doesn’t hate us.  I’m going to have to get very creative with the thank you notes.

But in honor of Henry’s first year, which officially ended on November 25th, I’m posting a few photos from his first few days of life.  Happy birthday, Henry.

It’s been a hell of a ride so far.  I can’t wait to see what you have in store for us.