Cole is two weeks old today. I would like to share what we’ve learned about him in these past 14 days.
Whenever people see Cole they begin gushing about how he looks exactly like me. I’m fat. I get it, you guys. Cole is all cheeks and chins and the general shape of his face when he’s in a seated position resembles what my lower back and buttocks would look like if I were seated and viewed from behind. Cole, I suppose, has the excuse of not being able to do cardio yet. He’s a cute guy who enjoys the hell out of his formula and breast milk. They’re like his sushi.
Cole also enjoys flashing his “rap hands” as seen in this picture. Sometimes Cole is inspired to wave his hands in front of his chest. He also drops some fat bars while doing so. Cole’s verses always start with “My name is Cole and I’m here to say.” So far, he’s banged out second lines such as:
“I’ll drink that formula ev-er-y day.”
“If the boobs are out, stay outta my way!”
“I’ve filled my diaper with some molding clay.”
He’s two-weeks old. You’ll forgive him.
Unlike his sister, Cole is a sound sleeper. Once he’s had his bottle, he’s a few minutes of back-patting away from a solid three-hour nap. In true Higa fashion, he sleeps with his arms above his head if not swaddled. He smiles a lot and keeps my on my toes by intermittently trying to eject himself from arms two or three times a day. This past weekend he unloaded feces into his diaper that had the consistency, color, and opacity of gray-green paint. Then, he kicked his heel in the river of this paint and started kicking the foot around so as to distribute it on his legs, my hands, and on the new diaper. I didn’t bat an eye. This, as they say, is a true, unconditional love.
Happy two weeks, Cole. You can thank your sister for getting an entry all your own.