little king

June is upon us and it's as if I time-warped through May. Suddenly I have a baby gulping and giggling behind me -- in some way, I wonder how he came to be there, making his baby noises. But I was there for all of it, so I do know. I didn't have the dreaded drama that has been built up in my mind for years, the awful 20-something hours of labour that my poor mother experienced. I feel rather "lucky" in that sense. Just under five hours and then the real work began, so to speak.

Little Max Thure Michael Aspegren now rules our house. His two middle names are from his father's grandfather (Thure) and mother's great-grandfather (Michael). He is putting us through trials that we never imagined, and this unspeakable, intense joy that comes with those trials as a blessing and encouragement. It's a total trip.

Even now he demands that his mamma cease her silly typing and attend to his needs. And with a few cries promising a full-blown episode, I submit. Sweet little 54 centimeter dictator is he.