Introducing...

Jen and I drove over to MGH after work yesterday to visit with the blindingly exhausted Erin and PJ and meet the charmingly debonair new Sea Street resident. We tapped lightly on their door within the Blake Newborn unit. Just FYI and all, the unit’s pretty damned sweet. It’s all whimsical-but-not-insipid paintings, dimmed versus gruesome bright fluorescent lighting and muted warm earth tones. None of this saccharine pastel pinks and blues or Disney character horseshit.

In any case, we tiptoed in, thinking they might all be sleeping, and found Daddy Donahue rocking his brandy new bairn. Despite weighing in at a monster 9 pounds 3 ounces he’s just this wee, tiny thing.

Even smaller than Coco (who runs a svelte yet solid 12 pounds).

And then Jen and I fell desperately in love. With Patrick. Duh.

The second we saw him our eyes filled with tears (the happy, chock-full-of-cherish kind) and we just had to hold him.

Are all conversations, when in the presence of a newborn, sparked with brill bon mots such as:

'Oh look, he curled up his little hand!'

'He yawned! Did ya see that?'

'Was that a dimple? I think he's got dimples!'

'Check it out -- he just pursed his tiny mouth!'

Yeah, we're not talking Algonquin Roundtable chit chat here. I believe the damned sprogs give off some kind of cosmic ray that makes us all go sappy and twee.

Truly. But that's OK. Totally. Bring it on.

Neither Jen nor I regret our no-birth-zone choices. Well, she had a choice. I had an edict from Dr. O/AKA god -- not that I was especially inclined to voluntarily swell up to Sumo wrestler magnitudes, go through excruciating, horror-show pain or deal with all that nasty projectile vomiting, mind you. Then, of course, there’s the 21+ years of constant worry.

Nope, nein, nada. Jen and I are cat people and fret enough over them as it is. We do make gloriously dandy aunties though.

I found myself scritching Patrick behind his ears, patting his head and tranquilly murmuring 'good boy' to him just as I do with Rocco and Gaston.

Oops. Human not feline here. He didn't seem to mind though and, thank Bast, Patrick's Mummy and Daddy didn't seem to notice.