Isaac is still sleeping as I write this, as is his Mommy who is still under the weather. But....last night Isaac, who is 6 weeks old today, slept from 9 PM until 3:30 AM. That's right, Chubby Bubby slept 6 and half hours. Everyone, as you read this, knock on wood. I just did.

A little update. We have finally figured out a way to beat the heat, strategically deploying air conditioners around the house. Bianca had a set back on Monday, not feeling well at all and running a 102 temperature, but she did better yesterday. Then on Monday night, with a sick wife, a boiling hot basement (which is excluded from our cool zone), and a scared infant (because of the thunder) we got a tornado warning, the first ever since I have lived in New England.

Fortunately, these New Englanders (note: there is no word for collective peoples from Massachusetts, like Vermonters), know as about tornadoes as Buckeyes know about bitter cold New England style winters--not a lot. Sure the sky got that funny green color but it was a tornado warning by Doppler only (there are two ways for a warning to occur, in theory like by Doppler projections, or with actual witnesses seeing a tornado, see here). In Xenia we don't call a tornado warning unless Toto and Dorothy are whirling through the skies past the weather men in person. Here, the nerds use their "weather machines" to "project" that a tornado should have occurred. There were no pictures after the fact of that sinister funnel cloud, but downed trees in certain parts of central Massachusetts suggest that there may have been a tornado, but nothing like a Xenia-style twister or two. It was a tornadette I guess.

We all turned out fine, but it was an unfun hour in the basement with Sickie and Chubby Bubby.

Oh the trials of fatherhood. Or as Nanna said: when it rains in pours (to which I responded: I'd be fine with a downpour, but a tornado stretches the saying just a bit).

Every night, or almost every night, Bianca, Isaac and I have a dance party in the kitchen. It very regularly puts him to bed. So, with that in mind I thought I would catch it on video. Here it is:

Bianca is getting better but still on the mend. It has been 90 degrees or more for the past 12 out of 13 days. Isaac, I believe, is going through another growth spurt and has not slept great. Not slept well for him, mind you, not for the average kid; he still gave us a 3.5-3.5-3.5-X, where X is at least 3 hours, as I am writing this while he is sleeping.

The little booger has started to smile at slightly context appropriate times. He has also started to laugh, though at completely in appropriate times (including once on the changing table when I looked down and said, "You are not going to poop on Daddy, right?"). He also tried twice to expose Bianca while breastfeeding in public, pulling back her nursing cape or whatever that thing is called.

But the thing that is truly post-worthy was this.

Last night at his 6 o'clock feeding I was talking to Bianca when all of sudden I heard a real fart noise. Not one of those dusty, cute baby farts, but a real juicy one with some amplitude to the sound. Knowing that Bianca is a lady and never really lets them loose (ah, the joy she misses), I paused. In the meantime Bianca shoots me a scornful look. Then he does it again, a true, adult sounding toot.

This is a milestone they don't tell you about in all those fancy baby books--the stage when you can legitimately blame your flatulence on your kid. We have reached that stage. Congratulations Isaac Anthony! I will now be given you knowing, smiling looks in elevators when I rip one. And the strangers will just chuckle thinking, "Oh that little baby."

Benefit #10,104 of having a kid: fart scapegoat.