I have a few crumbs of adoption news. After two or so months of silence, Mr. Book wrote Cricket a card in late June; I sent him a card for the 4th of July. We picked out and bought his birthday and Christmas gifts, which will sit quietly in the closet until it’s time to wrap them. In the meantime, Ruth has been complaining about Cricket on Facebook; he is interested in guns and in death, and she disapproves strongly and publicly. That part’s not so good.
But things down here are good. Oh, sure, we have periods of so tired we want to scream—Joey just got both top canine teeth at once, which left him puffy-cheeked and frazzled—but overall, we have two sweet-natured little boys and time to enjoy them. Kit wants to be put down sometimes to investigate the world on his own, which Joey absolutely never did; if you set baby Joey down, he would howl. But Kit wants to be set down sometimes, and will then cheerily wiggle toward the edge of the bed or try to roll under the futon. He’s huge (95th percentile for both height and weight) and smiley. He certainly gets less time with me just staring adoringly at him and more time tucked into my arms while I work on something else than Joey ever did, but I still have time to look intensely at him and get weepy with a kind of baffled gratitude that is a distinctly parental feeling.