There's a new entry in my Dad-Dictionary: Nipple Confusion

Pre-parenthood I would have told you that this was a term most relatable to some traumatic teen years of mine. Alas, I have been set straight now on the true meaning. Luckily, Foster's confusion was short lived (of course, his dad is still working things out...)

Nipple doppelgangers are not Foster's only trouble these days. In fact, I'd say that most of his anxiety and headaches come from his own hands. They are flailing all over the place and seem to get involved where they shouldn't. Just when he's about to sleep...bam! He pops himself in the eye. Get him to start sucking on that pacifier? Wham! Out it goes. He's like that inflatable man you see at car dealerships. Silly and slightly dangerous.

Despite his rouge hands, Foster is starting to become quite cute. The smiles are regular now which Amy and I both believe is an animal-like defense mechanism. Not to keep predators at bay, but rather to keep us from throwing him out the window. On fussy nights he can pull us right back from an all out meltdown by just shooting us a little grin. It's like his only form of payment for all the stuff we go through. Lucky for him we except adorableness in lieu of cash.