The breast pump has arrived. I don't know who's more excited mom or Emily. Now I get to participate in the feeding process. It's kind of strange to open the fridge and see a shelf of your wife's milk. I want to go get a bunch of little milk cartons to put it in. Mom didn't take kindly to being called the Dairy Queen. Think I need a new nickname.
Emily is just starting to figure out that the face is the place to look. She'll study your face for minutes on end, watching for something; and when you get just the right combination of raised eyebrows, wrinkled nose and puckered lips you're rewarded with her smile. The greatest gift that you could ever get.
Dad.
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