One Good Life | Every Day is Christmas

Just look at what I get to look at everyday: The choicest bit of babyflesh one could ever ask for. Imminently smoochable. Sweet, soft and snuggly. Holy crap, I am loving life.

Television seems to have lost its appeal since the baby arrived. We are convinced that she's got Jedi mind control powers, because The Varmint and I NEVER expected to act like mooning asses over our baby. Not like this. No way.

And yet, here we are, every morning - a couple of Kilroys peering over the edge of our baby's bassinet, staring at her and giggling with the sort of glee reserved for toddlers on Christmas morning.

I don't think we could say, "Isn't she cute?!" any more often to one another. We tell stories of spit-up and diaper destruction to one another - and the listener will be rapt, often concluding the story with a "That's my girl!" or "She takes after her daddy!"

I guess what I'm saying is that I'm even making myself nauseous with this overwhelming baby adoration.

Damn those freaking instincts: However civilized we think we are, there is just no controlling our nutty monkey-behavior when it comes to something as primal and ancient as procreation.

And besides - just look at those cheeks. Irresistible.

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