62/100

Little Bighead (Felix) doesn’t provide nearly as many interesting anecdotes as his brothers, since he isn’t talking yet. But that doesn’t mean that he isn’t interesting—he is smiley for just about everyone, squinty in the bright sun, and either very smelly (from his spit up stains and the laundryish odors of his nightclothes) or incredibly powdery-baby-sweet smelling when he’s just had a bath. He lies in his little jungle chair contentedly and strains for the pull string, reaching it occasionally, when J is working in the kitchen or when I am practicing in the basement. (I have a space heater running when we’re down there together.) He sucks his two fingers just like Owen, and when you change his diaper he makes lunges for his feet and looks please with himself when he catches them. He gnaws on my thumb when I hold him and sends long drips of drool down my arm and his shirt-front. When J nurses him he sticks an arm up in her face and whimpers between sides as if she’s going to forget to feed him the other half of his meal. He rolls from his back to his front and then gets stuck. In a house full of noisy boys, he always smiles when he realizes that one of his big brothers is looking and talking at him. He goes down for any babysitter and seems content to be held by anyone except for one of the Saturday pastors at J’s church. (I don’t know what he holds against him, but apparently he freaked out.) He is a good baby.