The new adventures of H. Stockton Bros.

This is Henry, or H. Stockton Brothers in professional circles.


He likes stuffed animals. Shown here are his personal giraffe, Chubbo, and an unidentified fan (note the vintage "Henry" t-shirt).



His Mom takes good care of him, providing a daily diet of milk followed by a relaxing bath.

He like to chat with his Dad, mostly about the creeping socialism pervading America since the Eisenhower years.


His Grandmother came to visit.


During a recent lunch in his honor, he was paid many fine compliments during the testimonials, such as "Who's a good baby? (That's rhetorical) You are!"


Fin.

Two new pictures of Henry.

Sorry this blog is turning into one of those navel gazing "Behold God's Individual Snowflake, My Perfect Son" sort of webpages, but what do you want, I am a first time Dad.


The photo above is Henry's first bath since arriving home. Look how long he is! Like a tiny Tommy Hearns.


Henry loves the red. Please note the pacifier.

And now, a rant. I am finding baby books and the like a bit nerve-wracking at this point. The statistics are so dire, like "The first indication of sexual deviancy in a child is nipple confusion, so to avoid your son being a serial clown rapist, be sure to NEVER use a pacifier" which is immediately followed by advice from another source "Newborns who are insufficiently soothed (such as by not using a pacifier) quite often grow up with rage disorders, typically expressed by savage beatings of mimes." So what do you do? Personally, I think the hell with the mimes, but "everybaby (and every family) is different."

Henry, redux.

I was asked for a picture of Henry's hair, or more precisely, Henry not wearing a hat. Here it is:

Good looking kid, eh?

One neat thing I've learned as a father: A minorly irritated cat and a very pissed baby both sound the same through a door. Everytime the whiniest of our cats meow, I'm running into the other room to make sure Nicole and Henry are OK.