Gone in an Infant

We are in the middle of another Parenthood binge. Season 3 currently plays at night while I get a lot accomplished (read: do deep squats while holding bright-eyed and awake Conor because that seems to be all that calms the night owlet enough to sleep at night. Does he know that I'm the worst workout-er ever? He must). During one of the episodes of the night, a baby was born, and I could not stop crying. Tears normally spring forth when I see births on TV because the amount of sap in me rivals a maple tree, but this time I was really crying because I missed it. Oh, I missed the sweet moments right after birth. They are so fleeting; they are gone in an instant. 

I'm aching for those privileged, brand spanking new moments. My newborn is now an infant ... which is practically full-fledged adulthood in my sappy fast-forwarding eyes. That cooing babe probably thinks I'm cuckoo. Get used to it, child of mine. 

Yesterday I was all set to bathe Conor. The birthday suit was on, and the bath was drawn. The little monkey had me on a short leash as he is keen to do with his fists full of my hair. I set to freeing my tresses from his grasp, and once I thought I was free, I started to lean my head to the right to do a most likely ungraceful and inefficient hair flip so it would stop tickling the sneezes out of him. But. Somehow my hair was stuck so I kept yanking and yanking. Finally amid the flailing dimpled elbows and tiny hands, I discovered that his neck roll had trapped more than a few strands of hair. His neck roll! I had to pry the captive strands out. Ha!