John Byron Starr IV 7 pounds, 9 ounces. 18 3/4 inchs.
He's actually a pretty little baby. And this comes from someone who thinks babies and infants are cute, but newborns inevitably look like Winston Churchill. Of course, I am biased.
Still not sure what we're going to call him. Shelly wants Jay. I want J (different spelling or lack thereof). My hardheaded father insists on John. And a nurse nicknamed him Buddy and that stuck for a while. I'm threatening to do like Homer Simpson and call him "the boy".
I'm going to have some pictures set up on my website soon. I'll post again when they're up.
Not just yet. I'm tempted to bypass the beer and go straight to the knockout punch - I've got my eye set on a bottle of Crown Royale that another funeral director gave me when grandmaw died.
Abby is doing great. I'm not sure if it's fatigue or the baby, but she has been a little fussy. On the other hand, anytime she's with J she's really sweet - hugging him, kissing him, telling him she loves him. I'm kind of surprised. She's never liked dolls so we were worried how she would handle a baby.
Names are difficult--in each case with my daughters, I'd chosen names in which I liked both the formal name and the common nickname; I figured we'd be safer that way because people just start using whichever they prefer.
So, a boy and a girl. I don't remember how much older Abby (that's her name, right?) is. I'm sure they'll have fun together. The nice thing about the second is that the first does quite a bit of entertaining, and it's worth the occasional bouts of jealousy and whining.
Hope you've got some time off to enjoy them (and sleep!).