Bundles of Joy

4By Trevor C. Hale

Trevor Jr.—TJ —is the ripe old age of two weeks and having supper as I write this, suctioned to my wife, the lactating legend.

It’s nothing but boobs, naps and nappies for him these days. He has all the worries of a spoiled housecat. We are so lucky he is healthy and happy.

2He can do no wrong and each day is filled with small but significant “world firsts.”  His poop is orange. Alert the press.

He fed for an hour and napped for four. A new record. Start a blog.

He is partial to opening his left eye more, and thusly looks like Winston Churchill pondering troop mobilization on the Eastern Front.

Grumpy Cat famously made a cool $95 million one year in endorsements of crankiness and incredulity. Surely we can monetize baby Churchill in repose. At a minimum, with some decent Instagram and Snapchat game, he can ascend to digital influencer.

Brand ambassador for onesies, anyone? Chop chop, pork-chop, the onesie window closes ever so slightly with every pig out. You’re not getting any younger or smaller, son.

He has a vast wardrobe of onesies, but inexplicably nary a Roll Tide or even one houndstooth outfit. I’m not saying TJ is responsible for the Tide’s National Championship loss, but I do think he could focus a bit more on the “process” and let’s face it, you can never drill too much for special teams.

1We stare at his little round face wondering if his grey-ish eyes will change. He has the combination of his momma’s gorgeous half-Filipina, half-Czech blood, with a healthy splash of my American mutt (mostly British, according to Ancestry.com, with a drop of Choctaw). He gone’ be a looker (the “like his daddy” is implied).

We’re trying to decipher every coo, chirp, sigh, belch and whine. Is that a “why haven’t you changed my soiled pants” chirp of impatient disgust, or the plaintive whine of “give me boob, woman”? Or perhaps a conspiratorial coo lamenting Russian involvement in the U.S. spray tan industry.

What if the baby monitor picks up something untoward: “I just grab them by the nappies. When you have my kind of Snapchat following you do what you want.” You’re grounded, mister!

Since he’s a “Trevor” if I talk about him (Trevor’s getting upset!), it’s as if I’m speaking of myself in the third person. Trevor would never do that. Trevor’s got more class.

TJ will have U.S. and Aussie citizenship. Our appointment at the U.S. Consulate in Hong Kong is the day before the inauguration. Before the official portraits are changed. Trevor likes this.

Our little bundle is a ball of boundless potential. When should piano lessons start? Should he study Bruce Lee’s Tang Soo Do, Muay Thai or learn Jujitsu with the Gracies?

Should his coding tutelage focus exclusively on apps for iOS and Android, or should he get a foundation in HTML first?

Perhaps he should learn traditional Chinese characters before the simplified versions used in the Mainland, to steep himself in their ancient origins. Trevor thinks this makes sense.

Should his early carting have an exclusive focus that leads to Formula One or should he nail some ovals and dabble in Nascar?

3It goes without saying that as quarterback, he’ll be well-versed in the no huddle offense, and just as apt to run as to pass.

There’s a lot to ponder. Like the essay portion of the Harvard application. More later. Trevor’s got nappy duty.

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