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2002-10-17

If there's anything sweeter than a freshly-bathed little boy in cotton pajamas, I have not run across it in my 39 years.

My favorite moment of the day, I think, is when I put him in his crib for the night and he curls fetally, with thumb in mouth and blanket grasped in the other hand. Yes, it signals the beginning of the roughly two hours of unstructured time I enjoy each weekday but it's so much more.

For a few days there, C was Mr. Tongue. He'd just discovered it, I guess, and was constantly sticking it out and touching it with his hands. Let me tell you, it was not an intelligent look. Kind of Village Idiot. I'm relieved to see it pass.

What is he up to now? Crawling like a pro, getting closer to walking. Wearing little jeans and overalls and corduroys and khakis and flannel shirts and thermal shirts. I initially thought boy clothes were awful and girl clothes cute but when he's dressed in this stuff--tiny versions of the clothes we wear (except for the overalls)--the effect is heartbreakingly sweet.

I always thought I wanted a daughter but I love having a son. I don't know whether we'll have another; I'm very much on the fence. Someone I know said, "With one you can fake it" and so far that seems to be the case. I'm not sure I want whether I want to go all the way. The decision is a ways off, but if we decided to take the plunge, I think I'd prefer another boy. I certainly wouldn't be disappointed.

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