Is it me or is the Fridge gurgling?

In which our Hero meets a man to whom teeth are a distant consideration

You’d think I’d stop being surprised at how light babies are. Fridge feels insubstantial in my arms, less than the weight of his swaddling blankets. I pat the little bunny on his back and rock him and he blinks twice, bleats once, and then forgets his objection to not-mommy in a sudden and profound doze.

Fridge is *tiny,* born two weeks ahead of plan and two pounds shy of big brother’s birthweight. Two months later, he has stretched his mighty sinews to newborn scales and outgrown the handspan of his Cimmerian father. Right now, he doesn’t look like anybody, though the word “owlish” pops into mind a little too often to ignore.

And then he woke again, and while I’m not afraid of a crying baby, the fact that he was fussing as much as he was made me bring him back to mom, and that instinct proved right because she decided he was hungry. Guessing right was almost as satisfying as having him fall asleep on me in the first place.

I’ve held his brother, Oven, and his uncles, the Bobs, and his older aunts and uncles, and on. For that matter, the photo album evidences that I’ve held his mother, when she was a little bigger then than he is now and I only a few years older. Maybe that’s where my expectation of what a baby should weigh comes from.

Easter means family. Like wriggly-new Fridge and Oven. Like the Bobs who borrowed my camera and took an almost awe-inspiring number of shots of some turtles in a terrarium. The turtles are in the foster care of my cousin Spaz, who just graduated from a four year psych degree.

Because she’s been feeling a little isolated from the family in general, I wanted to get her a little something to remind her she’s thought of, and since my parents represent the family on official presents, I went non-sequitur. In honour of her new professional standing, and her future employment, I got her a tin of mixed nuts. To my great pleasure, she broke out laughing immediately and gave me a big hug. I have to confess, I’ve been testing the joke and nobody’s really got it so fast till her.

I’ve also got a pen on order for her, but Nocturne suggested jewelry might be better and I admit I like the idea but I feel a little daunted shopping for the kid. I’ll take a look and if I find something that works, I’ll cancel or supplement the pen as seems appropriate.

She’s also asked if she can come with me to the concert I’m going to. Which I guess means I should also mention that I’m voluntarily leaving the house for a Zoe Keating concert in June. What worries me is that Spaz doesn’t realize that my tastes are somewhat obscure, and Ms Keating is not mainstream. Entirely enjoyable, but at the same time, “avant-cello” may not be what she’s prepared for and she’s old enough not to ruin my good time but I still worry about hers.

So I guess now I’m going to a concert with my cousin. Yay?