It's Saturday morning, which means a long week is over. Yesterday I worked a full day, got stuck in traffic on the way home, and walked in to find Elena holding a troubled and crying Max. "He's been fussing since 3:00," she said after I kissed her, "and I'm going to need relief soon." Just the sort of thing that I wanted to hear, walking in the door tired myself. So I took a deep breath, washed my hands, drank a glass of water, fluffed the pillows on the couch, and sat down next to Elena. As I took Max in my arms, I realized the great difference between holding my screaming son at home and designing circuits at work. At work, I know my time on any given project will eventually end, and if it doesn't end I haven't done my job. At home, I hope that my time with Max will never end. I will see him more and less over the years, but if Project Max continues it is only due to success.
Last night marked Max's 7 week birthday. He's grown fat and started sleeping and eating more; his eyes track people and sounds; he smiles at us; we're taking him outdoors more and more often; I'm feeding him one bottle a day; Elena and I have gotten better at changing him, bouncing him, and determining when he's hot and cold and needs to be changed. There's a lot to learn still, and the goalposts will keep moving. And just now he's started to yelp from the crib. Time to go. More to come.