Well, we have decided to put our snowshoes on, pack our ice skates and soak up as much sunshine as possible before leaving so we can visit the North Pole, which apparently has moved south to Iowa. We wanted an opportunity to introduce Quentin while he was still a baby. He's working his way into 3 month year old clothes and has begun eyeballing 6 month clothes. He's growing like a bamboo shoot! We are going to be heading up there the weekend of February 7th. I'm sure Carrie has some sort of gathering happening. As I understand it there is an "ice fishing" tourney at the river. I believe this is man code for skedaddle for the weekend to a different locale then the wives and enjoy a few brewskies while grunting through the event. For the die hards I imagine there is some actual fishing. From the people I will be joining they only know it's a rumor and have not actually seen it happen. We will stick to our story of how we're going to the fishery in case anyone asks. For anyone else who is not interested in the fishery Quentin will be on display. I'm sure if you contact Carrie she'll let you in on all the girl giggling details.
One quick story for the weekend. I am back at work, which cuts down on my Quentin time considerably so when lunch rolls around I usually grab a quick bite to eat and try to get 15-20 minutes with him before I have to head back to work. Yesterday, I slam down a sandwich so I can spend a few minutes with Quentin. I pick him up and he's cooing enjoying the daddy time. He likes to jump, but you have to hold him a little bit because he doesn't have the balance to stand but he'll push off if you put something underneath his feet. So, he's jumping up and down and then gets this serious look on his face and you know what's coming next. The concentration leads into a sonic boom of relief for him and agony for you. I seriously can't pick Quentin up without him immediately laying some cable. So, you have to give him a few minutes to make sure you get the all clear sign. I do, which in this case was a monumental mistake. We have a leaker! It's like yelling STAT! in the ER, except this is more life threatening. I am running, no check that, sprinting to the changing table in the other room before this blow out turns into a grenade and serenades the house with baby poo. I make it only in time to drip all over the changing table. So, I'm being a good sport about it. I strip him down, take a wipe and then the whole package of wipes giving him a wipe bath from head to toe. I find a new outfit - one that matches, get him dressed all in about 15 minutes. I'm feeling real proud of myself. I only ruined his outfit, his blanket, his changing table sheet thing and that's not too bad. I've only been downstairs for about 25 minutes. I pick him up with his nice clean outfit on take about four paces and he pukes all over his new outfit. You've got to be kidding me. Unbelievable. Carrie?!?! Quentin needs you and I need to get back to work! So I spent my 20 minutes with Quentin of which 90 seconds of it was holding him. The rest would've been waxing him down and changing his outfit. My lunch break isn't long enough for me to change him twice.
Here is a pick of him mimicking me. He likes to do that. It's hard to get him to smile, but when he does it's a good one. He's got some sweet dimples for the ladies.
One quick story for the weekend. I am back at work, which cuts down on my Quentin time considerably so when lunch rolls around I usually grab a quick bite to eat and try to get 15-20 minutes with him before I have to head back to work. Yesterday, I slam down a sandwich so I can spend a few minutes with Quentin. I pick him up and he's cooing enjoying the daddy time. He likes to jump, but you have to hold him a little bit because he doesn't have the balance to stand but he'll push off if you put something underneath his feet. So, he's jumping up and down and then gets this serious look on his face and you know what's coming next. The concentration leads into a sonic boom of relief for him and agony for you. I seriously can't pick Quentin up without him immediately laying some cable. So, you have to give him a few minutes to make sure you get the all clear sign. I do, which in this case was a monumental mistake. We have a leaker! It's like yelling STAT! in the ER, except this is more life threatening. I am running, no check that, sprinting to the changing table in the other room before this blow out turns into a grenade and serenades the house with baby poo. I make it only in time to drip all over the changing table. So, I'm being a good sport about it. I strip him down, take a wipe and then the whole package of wipes giving him a wipe bath from head to toe. I find a new outfit - one that matches, get him dressed all in about 15 minutes. I'm feeling real proud of myself. I only ruined his outfit, his blanket, his changing table sheet thing and that's not too bad. I've only been downstairs for about 25 minutes. I pick him up with his nice clean outfit on take about four paces and he pukes all over his new outfit. You've got to be kidding me. Unbelievable. Carrie?!?! Quentin needs you and I need to get back to work! So I spent my 20 minutes with Quentin of which 90 seconds of it was holding him. The rest would've been waxing him down and changing his outfit. My lunch break isn't long enough for me to change him twice.
Here is a pick of him mimicking me. He likes to do that. It's hard to get him to smile, but when he does it's a good one. He's got some sweet dimples for the ladies.
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