On being two weeks old

I have gotten more adept with my hands. They rarely stab me in the eyes anymore, and while I still lke to claw at my cheeks with them while I nurse (in these little ecstatic spasms of self-destruction), I don't think they're much of a real danger.

My poop has gone from black to green to yellow to brownish-yellow, much to the ridiculous rejoicing of my parents. I expell it with vigor and style, and often quite a bit of noise.

I have become a champion at nursing, too, venturing under the nipple even first thing in the morning when I know full well I'll be opening the floodgates of those throbbing orbs. Sometimes I do get overwhelmed and my frantic and audible gulping can't keep up, so I sputter and take a rest, sometimes to cry for a frustrated moment. Dad refers to this as "drinking from the fire hose."

whoops crying break...

I like the Baby Bjorn frontpack carrier; I usually fall asleep in it within a few minutes, even when I'm pretty beside myself with hoarse, bellowing baby rage.

Then I sleep. Gasping, wheezy, active sleep, in which I periodically raise both hands to the sky like I am directing the characters in my dreams to dance! dance!

Sometimes the transition from bellowing to sleep is so abrupt that it's really mid-cry, and I fall asleep with my angry little fists still up by my face, my head lolling backward with my little red cheeks all puffed out and my mouth suddenly relaxed into a surprised and sleepy "O."