Small talk

Keaton, the Skipper, our cute little ball of flesh, has googly eyeballs.

He likes to sit in our arms and stare at us, as if there's something hanging from our noses and he's too polite to say anything, but not polite enough not to stare.

This is the sign of a curious young mind; an observer of the world, taking it all in through wide-eyed stares.

Just a week shy of being two months old, he's not expected to say much. He's not expected to say anything, really, which explains my surprise when one day, out from his pursed little mouth, came this noise:

"Coo."

So he cooed, in an ever-so faint way that made you think twice before you realized he wasn't passing gas.

A "coo" is baby talk, so technically we can't consider that his first word. But it was certainly his first noise other than crying, so it's worth documenting in the annals of time.

Cap'n Quinn, by contrast, is a verbal jukebox filled with coins.

What did you do today Quinn?

"Went to the park and saw the kid... then the purple guy and the shark ... and, and .... the pirate and the pirate and the blue guy ... and chicken and fries and then ... (spinning in circles) whoa! whoa!"

As bright and articulate as a nearly three-year-old can be, he still has more in his brain than his little mouth can handle at once.

The doctors say Quinn has mono, a virus which typically makes you lethargic and miserable. Quinn is ebullient and generally cheerful. I wish everybody had his kind of mono.

Certainly, he's worth staring at with googly eyes.

A spot of mono

Nobody likes to be sick.

And nobody likes to be sick with lymph glands swollen to the size of grapes, a 100-plus degree fever, massive flaming tonsils, chapped lips and a faceful of spots.

Quinn, however, doesn't seem to mind. It's 9:15 p.m. on Saturday -- way past bed time -- and the Cap'n is spinning in circles, looking to play with his bubbles and finishing a movie. I'd enforce some kind of curfew if I wasn't so pleased that he isn't miserable.

Because yesterday afternoon, I was worried.

Constant complaints about a sore mouth and a sore belly, coupled with the high fever, precipitated our second visit to the doctor in a week. Initially, the doctor was visibly worried -- the massive size of his lymph nodes led her to fear the worst. But a favorable blood test showed he is more likely fighting off a virus, and he has the symptoms of mononucleosis.

Our hope, naturally, is that this mono (or whatever it is) runs its course quickly, rather than the months-long lethargy that can come with the illness. So far, our fears are subsiding. Despite difficulty sleeping and periodic fevers, the good Cap'n Quinn has been his normal ebullient self, albeit spotted and bored from being stuck indoors.

Perhaps the most challenging part has been keeping him away from his little brother.

Keaton continues to fill out nicely. The little Skipper loves to look around at the world, his big eyes wandering at whatever moves, no matter the hour.

Naturally, we'd prefer he stick to eating, sleeping and pooping in regular intervals, but a little human curiosity isn't something to discourage.

Makin' progress

We're past the three week mark in the young Skipper's life and, not surprisingly, he's getting cuter by the day.

With every bottle of milk our wee little man fills out even more. What was once a tiny little sprite with scrawny little frog legs is already showing signs of becoming a big strong boy. Along with that comes a growing curiosity to see the world, to look around a bit. Unfortunately for us, he seems to like the time around 2 a.m. best.

The adventures continued this weekend, as Keaton and his big brother, Cap'n Quinn, ventured to the Washinton County Fair. After visiting the regular collection of farm animals, and after a few nibbles of a corn dog, Quinn took his first crack at carnival rides. Depite Daddy's initial apprehension, he proved yet again that he's no longer a baby boy. He rode a helicopter ride with his Grandma Smith, and motorcycle, alligator, space ship, and construction truck rides all by himself.

Seeing that, Daddy realized his little guy is growing up -- even if he still tries to fit in Keaton's infant carrier.

The little gentleman

That handsome devil you see there is the Skipper, posing like the young gentleman he is for Mommy's talented photographer friend Jessica.

We made a big trip up to the Seattle area this week to have some professional shots of our wee little Keaton, and he performed admirably.

You can check the rest of Jessica's work, including the complete Keaton photo shoot, on her Web site here.

In just two weeks, Keaton has grown to 7 pounds and stretched a whole two inches to 20 1/2 inches long. The doctor gave him a clean bill of health this week and told him to keep up the good work.

Cap'n Quinn, meanwhile, is well on his way to mastering the potty. We've got a ways to go before we can completely abandon the diapers, but we're working our way there.

He's been busy trying to help Daddy out around the house. He's used his toy screwdriver, wrench and hammer to help build a table and a desk. He helped with some landscaping and, as you can see in the pictures below, he mowed the lawn. He's a busy two-year-old.

Natural evolution

There are lessons being learned daily here on the U.S.S. Fussy Britches.

Consider, for example, the Good Cap'n Quinn. Just a few weeks ago, he went on a slapping rampage, smacking other kids across the face unprovoked just to see the reaction. Later, he would constantly repeat to Mommy and Daddy: "I smacked that baby."

Today we took the whole family to the zoo. Quinn was standing next to a pretty little girl about his age. He started to stare right in her eyes, a familiar preface to a slap, based on his three previous infractions. But instead, he moved in for a kiss, a delightful and innocent moment we hope is a sign that he's moved on to more peaceful forms of expression.

That urge to kiss and nuzzle has no doubt been borne from his love for his new little buddy, the Skipper Keaton. As you can see from the pictures below, the boys have become pretty comfortable with each other, though, admittedly, Keaton doesn't say much to confirm this.

Still, they're good boys and they're learning every day. Today, for example, Keaton and I learned that cute babies are far more interesting than any zoo animals.

We were a popular exhibit.

Night and day

The Skipper has found his way home.

Nearly a week old, Keaton has settled nicely into a routine: sleep all day, up all night. But compared to his big brother the Good Cap'n Quinn, Keaton is a piece of cake.

You could say it's the difference between night and day.

As a newborn, Quinn's crying never ceased. Want to put him in a basinet? Scream. Hold him? Scream. The only time he didn't scream it seemed was when he was being fed. He learned how to sleep at six months.

Keaton, however, is a mime with a squeaky hinge. He stares and observes his surroundings silently while awake, his hands waving wildly as if conducting an orchestra. Then, when he wants something, he utters this subtle yet steady screech that builds to a crescendo the more you bother him.

One of those moments came today when Mommy and Grandma Smith gave Keaton his first bath. He's a gentleman, you see, and gentleman don't like to show their business off so cavalierly. But there he was, bits exposed, getting sponged by Grandma while Daddy held the camera. Clearly, he was mortified. But he survived, looking even more handsome.

Quinn reached a milestone of his own today when Daddy took him out for a special day at the movies, his first time at the big theater.

Upon entering the theater to see the latest "Ice Age" film, he looked around and, awestruck, said "what is this place?" With his buttered popcorn and fruit punch in hand, he sat through the whole movie like a champ, leaving Daddy to say, "We need to go to a lot more movies."

Quinn agreed. We could even bring Keaton.

He won't make a peep.

Excuse me sir, but do you know the way to Casablanca?

Tomorrow we depart from this den of cleanliness and nice ladies in scrubs. Off we sail to our White House, as we call it, or "Casablanca," in the parlance of the two worldly adventurers at the helm of the U.S.S. Fussy Britches.

We shall lift anchor by 11 a.m., with The Skipper Keaton buckled in tightly to his hand-me-down car seat.

His third day on this planet was routine by the previous days' standards, but full of its own landmarks. Keaton is eating more, though still on a quest to gain weight. He's discovered the benefits of the pacifier, and has begun opening his eyes and scouting out his surroundings a lot more. With each day, his curiosity grows.

The Good Cap'n Quinn is still fond of his new sidekick. Uninstructed, he likes to lean down and nuzzle his nose against Keaton -- a gentler form of hug. He's driving his Grandma Smith nuts, but that's what 2.5-year-olds do.

Mommy is enjoying the service at the hospital, if not the food. She'll miss being waited on, though it's even odds that Daddy will take over some of those duties. He's probably happiest to return to the White House after three nights sleeping on a pull-out bed that could easily be classified as a mild form of torture.

But mostly, it will be the Skipper's big day. It's his maiden voyage to Casablanca, and Sam's gonna be playing his tune.

Here's lookin' at you kid.