All the things that everyone talks about, the warm feelings and the sleepless nights, are all shades fo true. Each baby's life is tragic and touching, beautiful and scary as hell.

Our little baby is well on perfect. Of course, I'm something of a biased arbiter. Nonetheless, there are the little things. Last night was a rough one. K had it rougher, since she is the one who actually supplies the child his meals when and if he abides by having them. He has decided on an interesting plan of attack regarding nursing. Let's just say that he lives on a street with only two restaurants, and he refuses to patronize one of them. We're not sure the meaning behind his boycott, but his mom sets the table at the boycotted restaurant, and little good ever comes of it. In fact, if he finds himself seated at the wrong restaurant, he'll raise holy hell.

So this is a little, um, geographic problem. We've also got a small issue of tone. Skin tone, that is. Little R_____ is a tad jaundiced this afternoon. He's got a bilirubin number near 20, which is about 6 units above where we want it. We're trying to hydrate the youth with a mild glucose solution, but the reality is that he seems to like sleeping more than eating, and right now, he's got to eat, to process the blood and turn from yellow to pink, the official clinical term for baby-color.

Drink the solution, little man. Pink up!