This makes 31 posts.

Well, the jack hammers outside the windows they used to break up the concrete, led to a concrete truck with all it's noises today.

Diana was hovering over the bed at 6am. "Everything all right?" She said, "I've got to get ready, I can't take care of him any more." I said I would, and promptly fell asleep with his grunting. It was a grunty morning. Is there any relation to pooping? I don't know. He has the usual wake up wiggle, grabbing his head, arching his back, groaning the wake up groan.

His grunting escalated and his eyes opened, so I got up and fed him. We played the eat, sleep, put down, wake up game. He needed to be held, he was uncomfortable. More poop theory confirmation. So finally he fills up a diaper with the goo, and I change him, and there's less fussing and angry wiggle, more peaceful bottle drinking.

Now he can lay by himself and play in his activity center, gooing and cooing. Earlier he listened to some Donald Fegan, and now he's listening to some Philip Glass. He listened to some WFAN too, complaints about the west side stadium, that is wrong in so many ways, and because of that, will probably go through. Murphy's Law.

I mirror his vocalizations. I'm hoping to get a conversation going. He's still trying to control his arms. Still trying to figure out the body. I see him turn inward when he's busy in his diaper. I know Paul likes all the diaper talk.

I put on a warm outfit earlier, but it's warmed up, and he's back to his little singlet, and I've put a blanket over him. My test for temperature is myself, and whether he's sweating or cold. Diana's estimations are colder, and she's more prone to covering him and dressing him up, but it's worn off on me, I think. I feel a cool breeze, that is pleasant to me, and I bundle him up. He's wearing 6 months clothes and he's only 2 months.

Better get back to him. I answer his noises, but I like to be closer. I can only step away for a second, and then I have like this natural timer that tells me to get back close to him.