Look Ma! One hand!

Charlie was born at 2:22 a.m. The maternity ward was incredibly quiet and just one nurse and our doctor were there to witness his arrival.

Our newborn son protested the turn of events with a small, sweet cry accompanied by a protruding lower lip. Scott and I were so enamored by his quiet demeanor that I proclaimed him my "mild child" to Will's "wild child."

Sometimes when he cried, we would start to giggle at the sheer gentleness of it.
At one point, I think Scott even declared it "cute."

Oh, my, how things change in 9 months.

Charlie recently unveiled a cry so angry, so loud and so forceful, I fear the neighbors may call the authorities. This blood-curdling yowl is released whenever we need to change a diaper or a bottle is not delivered at the speed of light.

Well, last night, I outsmarted our little screaming bundle of joy. I was able to feed him and change his diaper simultaneously. One hand held the bottle (he was unwilling to cooperate and hold it himself) and one hand unbuttoned pjs and changed the diaper.

Now, the first-time mom in me would have found all this incredibly unsanitary. But now: I. DON'T. CARE.

The sheer efficiency of the move makes any potential germs completely irrelevant.

I will do anything to avoid that barbaric cry that haunts my dreams ... to shelter my first-born son from this violent sound in the middle of the night ... to prevent a zombie-like husband with nerves like shredded cheddar.

I believe this is Charlie's revenge ... perhaps we shouldn't have found his gentle cry quite so comical.