Tiny Things

Life is quite a bit different with a baby in the house.

IMG_3980I promise.  I will never refer to Fletch as my “fur baby,” although I will totally send you texts and sign his name.  There’s no denying he’s a baby, though.  Eleven weeks is little, y’all.

We haven’t quite figured each other out yet, and are working on the distinction between “inside” and “outside.”  He’s a smart little thing, though.  And he’s sweet and unbelievably laid back.  There’s a lot of this going on:IMG_4011

and a lot of this, too.


He sleeps a lot, then stretches, chases his tail, attacks his stuffed monkey, and sleeps some more.  Things only get apocalyptic if I lie down on the floor, and then it’s an avalanche of wet willies and hair entanglement.  It’s what I always imagined an attack by a rabid bat would feel like.  He has no idea what hair is or that it’s attached to me.  It just makes him a tasmanian devil.  It’s pretty adorable.

He sleeps a lot, except at 4 a.m.  We have some work to do on that. You have to watch him every second, unless he’s asleep with his monkey, but that’s okay.  I haven’t gotten a single thing done since Wednesday.  I’ve pretty quickly become adjusted to the fact that I’ll be staying in quite a bit for the next few weeks, and also that I may never complete a single task again as long as I

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