July 21st, 2019

Karin is holding Weston. His chubby cheeks are resting on her shoulder. She just finished feeding him some pureed sweet potatoes. He likes sweet potatoes, but Weston tends to wear them more often than he actually eats them. He’s crying a bit. I think he’s bloated. He will probably have a massive burp soon. Once Weston relieves some of the pressure, I am pretty sure that he will crash suddenly. He has that tired, whiny kind of cry. When he falls asleep, Karin will know because Weston will turn into a bag of jello.

Weston is generally a happy boy, but not right now. He is remarkably alert and observant. He is a sensory sponge. He soaks all that is happening around him. He’s fascinated by everything, and we’re fascinated by him.

It just happened. Weston is asleep. It was liking turning off a light switch. I don’t know where Weston went, but he is no longer with us. Karin will hold him for a while. Hans and Gabi should be home soon. The “A” team can take over.

Usually, Weston is okay with me holding him, although now would not be a good time to switch out with Karin. When I hold him, he gets a death grip on my beard. When I eventually pry his fingers loose from my facial hair, he always has several strands of it  in his little fist. He is rather strong for his age.

It’s odd. Sometimes Weston looks exactly like Hans did when was seven months old. Then other times he looks like Gabi. I guess heredity is like that. Weston has the same round head and copper-colored hair that Hans had all those years ago. He has Gabi’s nose. His eyes are still a dark blue.

Gabi said to me, “I wonder what color his eyes will be.”

I told her, “Bloodshot.”

She didn’t like that answer.



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