His cord fell off today. It's gone. The bloody, stinky reminder of his in utero days is dead. I am relieved. In yet another new parent panic moment, we called the doctor last night because his belly was smelling like three-week-old beached whale. The doctor called back this morning and said that it was normal. What dark beginnings we have. It's no wonder we've lasted so long. If not for the almost sinister cuteness of babes, the human race would have long been abandoned by the weak stomached for something more pleasant like flowers or hamsters. But when that little guy stares up at me with his blank wide-eyed wonder, I can't think of anything but him. When he twitches his little arms, the whole world twitches with him. Yes, a baby is a masterful design - a totally dependent, stinky little lump. A little lump that is destined for evolutionary success because not only does he contain our potential, but in his absolute innocence, contains what we can never be again. When I look into his eyes, I gleam with anticipation because I know he'll become like me one day, and I mourn the perfection that wanes as he approaches that goal.
Above all, I've learned that Elliot's cuteness trumps his grossness. I guess that's the first lessons of parenthood.
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