I just weighed the bun. Now, I think babies who are chubby are adorable. And everyone else seems to too, or they’re just being nice, but everyone fawns over him and points out how “healthy” he is. Perhaps this is one of those little euphemisms; “healthy” equals “enormous, like one of those prize-winning pumpkins,” but regardless, he’s an awfully big boy for someone who came from parents who are “average” to “dinky” in stature.

When I was pregnant I wasn’t allowed to eat stinky cheese, my favorite food on earth (other than deli meat and salami, also off the menu). So now that I’m bun-free, I’ve been eating more cheese than ever before. Once or twice a week either the husband or I go to pick up more stinky cheese from this foofy store up the street: hard cheeses, soft cheeses, bleu cheeses, Italo-Spanish-Franco cheeses, goat cheeses, sheep cheeses. There is almost no cheese that I won’t at least try, and often the stinkier the better. But I’m not proud–cheddar works too.

Anyhoo, needless to say I’ve been eating a lot of cheese. Now I’m looking at the boy, almost double his weight from birth and thinking, “This milk I’m making must be triple cream…”

“No autographs, please.”

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