Well, now there’s a bit of slightly better adoption news. Ruth has said that we should come next Saturday, and even better—she’s been having this conversation with Mr. Book. Perfect. I still don’t know whether I’m supposed to bring food, but I can worry about it next week. Of course, I’ll be into T3 by then and even huger than I am, but that’s going to keep goin’ on regardless, I suspect.
I got a coupon code for a free photobook (less of course shipping, so not as free as it might be) and had a bright idea. Mr. Book only very rarely will look at a picture of Cricket; it’s hard for him, and the emailed links don’t come frequently enough to have a very good chance of showing up at or near a good time for him, and then they just sort of melt into the archives the way that all old emails do. The photobooks that Ruth and Nora make are much appreciated, but don’t tend to include the pictures we like best—this isn’t about who is in them, either, although we are both baffled by the inclusion of pictures that do not include Ruth, Nora, or Cricket—we just seem to prefer different things. So I decided to make a private book for Mr. Book of Cricket’s birth through eighteen months, which I have creatively titled Cricket’s Babyhood. I put in a bunch of pictures of the two of them together, birthfather and son, as well as a couple of Cricket with most of his other important people and a bunch of solo shots. I really hope that this is a good idea. Mr. Book loves that kid so much, but it’s hard for him to find places to express or experience that aside from visits, and those really don’t come frequently enough for him. But I think that maybe a book of his own that he can keep wherever he likes and look at when he feels moved to could be a valuable addition. We’ll see.
The little bird is over two pounds now, and thumping around constantly, and tons of fun. Earlier this week he was (I suspect) kicking some terrible nerves in my back—I was getting scary and unprecedented back cramps, too high up to be organ problems, I think—but he has since rolled away and gone back to practicing the tarantella in my guts. He either likes or hates grape juice.
I hope everyone has a good weekend; mine should be quiet, which sounds pretty good right about now.