I demand a recount. Not cool, relentless forward march of time. Not cool.
Dear Baby Ike,
You had your first real bath last night.
Your belly button took its sweet old time healing up, no thanks to an assist from Noah, who accidentally knocked the umbilical stump off while trying to hug you, five-year-old cage-fighter style. (Your daddy then put the stump on the kitchen counter. I made him throw it out. I may lean toward the obsessive when it comes to documenting ya'll's childhoods, but sweet merciful crap, I am not scrapbooking anybody's freaking umbilical stump.)
Noah was thoroughly horrified, since we'd put the fear of God into him and Ezra about the stump, and the not touching of the stump, and for days afterward would tearfully ask me if he'd ruined your belly button. I think I have finally assured him that your belly button is just fine, but if you are ever looking for good prank-related ammunition to use against your big brothers, I would totally try like, smearing your belly button with Nickelodeon slime and being all, OMG NOAH WHAT HAVE YOU DONNNNE?
Just a suggestion. I was the youngest of seven, you know.
Anyway, you loved your bath, shockingly enough. I've never had a baby who loved baths right from the start. I think it was due to the fancy European-style tub, which curls you up all cozy and womb-like, even though I realized afterwards that I was technically bathing you all wrong because I hadn't inserted the inner seat right because the fancy European-style tub only came with fancy European-style instructions that I could not read and I didn't really understand the pictures.
Whatever. You didn't drown or anything.
Stop looking at me like that.
Same goes for you, Mr. Judgy Owl Pillow.
Stump drama aside, your brothers sure do love you, Baby Ike.
Though Ezra might love your bouncy seat just a bit more. He likes to lounge out there, whenever you're not using it. Or sometimes when you are. "I CUDDLE WIT BABY IKE!" he says, all innocent and shocked that I would suspect his motives for laying on top of you were anything other than pure brotherly affection.
Same with all those kisses he gives you, every chance he gets, all over your face. That are immediately followed by a gigantic, tremendous sneeze.
To Noah, however, there's no such debate. He thinks you are the greatest thing in the history of the world. Our world. And Harry Potter's world. And the Star Wars universe. And also Middle Earth and Jamaica and wherever Cars 2 happened.
And of course, he's absolutely 100% right.
P.S. No, I'm not sure when your brothers will EVER stop calling you "Baby Ike." I promise we'll try to work on it before kindergarten, though.
P.P.S. I call you Nugget. I make no such promises about that one.