Dear Oliver
So it’s already been two weeks since you’ve been born! I’m sorry I haven’t written sooner; your mother and I have been quite busy at home with you, and it’s been an absolute blast.
Anyway, I’m happy to report that you reached two major milestones yesterday: You played with your first toy, and your umbilical stump fell off, so you now officially have a belly button!
First, let’s talk about your belly button. It’s an innie, and after realizing it was there, we immediately pressed it, but sadly, nothing happened. Kayli and I had hoped that if we pushed it perhaps something good (cake or pie maybe) would appear, but alas, that was not the case. (Our own belly buttons remain stubbornly inoperable.) This belly button setback notwithstanding, we remain convinced that someday a belly button will live up to its potential.
You also played with your first toy yesterday. It is a rabbit toy, and like all rabbits, it is slightly terrifying. I don’t know why people think rabbits are cute. They have oversized teeth, they’re smelly, and they reproduce far too quickly. In this respect, they are like certain patrons at the local Walmart.
Not only did you play with your first toy, we also read you your first book last week. As I need to dig out a bunch of my children’s books, I went out and bought you a bunch of them, including some standards, Curious George, Babar, The Slightly Irregular Fire Engine, and a whole bunch of others. You now have your own bookshelf, which we plan on adding to in short order.
I purchased one book—Edward the Emu—based on the title alone. As you might expect, it is about an Emu. (He lives in a zoo.) We read it to you, but every time I said “emu,” you cried. We took this as a sign that you didn’t like the book. As a sign of solidarity, your mother and I both pledged to try to find, and eat, emu-on-a-stick at the upcoming Minnesota State Fair.
Right now, however, things are emu-free and you are more content. You are currently sleeping on a pillow next to me. You are lying on your back with your hands straight up into the air. I think you are either having a dream about being arrested or you are practicing to be a football referee.
Your mother is sitting here, too, and we’re all watching the 2012 Summer Olympics, which are being held in London. The Olympics have been a lot of fun to watch, though your mother and I think we would be better commentators than many of the folks that NBC has hired. (They all seem like pretentious jerks.)
Your mother, and I, however, would have more unorthodox comments. For instance, while discussing the dominance of the U.S. and Australia in swimming, we agreed that the U.S. is good likely because we are pretty wealthy and have access to lots of pools. I mentioned that Australia is probably good because they have the ocean to swim in; your mother looked at me, shook her head, and said, “No, Brett. It’s the sharks. Their swimmers are good because they are chased by sharks.”
Your mother and I also agree that the medals could be improved. As I understand it, the actual medals themselves aren’t actually as advertised—gold and silver medals are both mostly silver, but the bronze medals are actually bronze.
If we’re not going to go with the actual metals, let’s get a little more creative. We think it’d be great if the gold medal were an oversized version of one of those chocolates covered in gold foil. The silver medal could be a Peppermint Patty, and the bronze medal could actually be bronze, but we think it’d be great if the third-place finishers didn’t know it wasn’t candy before they bite into it. That’s what they get for placing third.
Finally, you might be wondering what your first few weeks of life were like.
The best way I can put it is: living with a newborn is like living with a tiny frat boy: they sleep all day, they’re obsessed with breasts, and they’re practically guaranteed to puke on you three to four times a week.
With that said, it’s been an absolute blast. We both wish we could simply stay home with you all the time. (I already had to go back to work. It was pretty hard.)
As a sign of our how much we like you, your mother and I have already given you a bunch of nicknames. The most popular ones right now are:
Ollie McGolly
Sir Wigglington
OllieBollie
Fuss-Fuss-McGus (when you are fussy)
You haven’t been awake all that much, but you are a hungry little guy. And when you want food, you want it now. You make this abundantly clear because your fingernails are like little eagle talons. And when you’re crabby, you’re even more aquiline: you make a bunch of squeaky bird-like noises and dig in your claws into whatever—or whoever—is nearby. I am covered in scratches.
When you cry, you waive your arms around like the Robot from the TV show Lost in Space. You probably don’t have the slightest clue what I mean. Let me explain: It featured a robot that waived his arms around a lot whenever he sensed danger and said “Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!”
I suppose he doesn’t seem like a very impressive robot to you. You live in the future, and you probably have robot friends. For all I know, we may even have a robot President.
In any event, I’ll try to keep up with the letters, so you can have an idea of what your early days were like.
With love,
Dad (and Mom)
