We're home.

It's good to be home.

All three of us are settling into life back at home. Life in the hospital is sort of like its own little form of hell. From overly chatty nurses who insist on telling you about how ready to quit they are because of the dust from the construction, to the constant dinging of the nurse bell heard all up and down the hall way, it's enough to make you start thinking about growing your beard out and talking to your imaginary friends. We actually got great care, it's just that one can only take so many interruptions from strangers asking you about your special parts and how they feel today. Poor Mary.

Being a new dad is a little bit like...um....nothing I've ever done before. He's awake right now, bright eyed, moving his hands all over the place in his little crib. He's supposed to be sleeping. Little fart.

If there were contests, this little guy would for sure win first prize in countless categories. For one, he's the best looking newborn that has ever come out of the chute. I mean, normally, babies are kind of ugly for a while -- let's be honest. They look like something in between Red Skelton and the Stay Puft Marshmallow man (isn't it weird how babies can look like old men?). Not this kid. Beautiful. And he's strong. The last time I went into his room to check on him, he was doing pushups. I had to tell him that babies are supposed to stay on their backs, so they can breathe. He told me that a couple extra pushups wouldn't hurt me. Again, little fart.

I told you I was going to get sappy. I may not hit the dangers of mixing the American flag and the Christian flag until at least July 4th.