Skylar was born just before 11 a.m. on Saturday.
Her arrival marks the first baby amongst any of my friends, and oh my word, is she cute. So cute. Perfect, really. Newborns aren't much for being adorable, but she is. She has all ten fingers and all ten toes, on her rather big feet. And the smallest, little nose and mouth, which puckers and gapes and makes sucking noises when she's hungry. And a tiny, little butt and full head of dark hair.
I told Lori and Bill that if they ever decided to, you know, return her, that I'd take her. And then I can buy a baby jogger, which is really the only reason I want a baby.
It was fun watching the two of them as parents. Lori's meant to be a mom. If any of my girl friends were meant to mother, it's her. It suits her. Bill's a proud papa. When I arrived at their house, he stood in the kitchen holding her like, "this is the coolest thing I've ever made." A smile from ear to ear.
And when Lori took Skylar to the nursery to nurse, he popped in every other minute or so, eager for a chance to hold his creation again.
"Lori, can I take her yet?" he'd pout, watching their baby feed. "I haven't seen her all day. I was working, and making dinner, and... and..."
He'd trail off, realizing he hadn't won the argument.
"I'm feeding her," she'd reply, clearly with child still attached to boob. "It'll be just a minute."
Bill turned from his wife and child, dejected, back to the kitchen to finish dinner.
"I wish I had boobs," he muttered.