One

"I was six months old and full of fun.

With the blink of an eye, I was suddenly one..."



I started out with what seemed like endless photos of Zach and the intention was to make a video so poignant and moving that you would cry as you watched. And then I really thought about it. A) I'm no Spielberg, and B) why would you cry anyway? Instead you get this: poor transition timing, perhaps too long, and even one photo that repeats (Gold star for whoever can tell me which one it is!). What I did manage to do was make myself cry. A lot. From the photos. From the music. Because I was there.
I was there the day we discovered there was even going to be a baby. The day I took five separate home pregnancy tests, unable to believe that I was really pregnant. That after all of that time of me wanting another baby and never having one, and suddenly, at the point where I had given up and moved on with my life, there he was. His name was selected because I read online that Zachary means God has remembered.

I was there, in my bedroom, day after day, watching YouTube videos of preemies each and every day. A 26-weeker, a 28-weeker. And as the contractions got worse and my resolve got weaker and weaker, the searches got more specific: 30 weeks, 1 day; 31 weeks; 5 days. This is what my baby will look like. Will he be intubated? Have an IV in his head? Be swollen, yet tiny? have transparent skin that looks almost alien? And people generally don't put the horror stories on YouTube So I watched and cried and drew every single shred of hope from the success stories I could find at ever stage of gestation. And the first song in my video was in just about all of them.

I was there on the day he came into this world. And I felt that fear. And guilt. Fear that I had somehow caused this, that although his lungs were deemed mature, there was more to it than that. The 35-week brain is vastly smaller than the 40-week brain. And though we thought I was 35 weeks, there actually was a miscalculation of my due date that wasn't discovered until 5 weeks postpartum. Should I have lied about the contractions? And what if something happened to me in the process? Could John raise them both alone, armed with only my life insurance?



I was there when the doctors held him over the drape and I saw the scrunched up face. And the hair! I will never forget that hair. Enough hair that it had shown up on an ultrasound. Only this was no ultrasound. This was him. In front of my face. And he was half-whimpering, half-crying. No hearty, robust cry. And I cried. A day shift anesthesiologist I do not know, and never have met at work since, was the one to wipe my tears. Because as a respiratory therapist, I knew what that meant.



I was there in my room and I couldn't see him. And I didn't know if he was warm or cold. Breathing or not. Was he confused that he wasn't hearing my voice anymore? My heartbeat? was he rooting for me and I was nowhere to be found? My heart and my arms ached for him, this child for whom I went through so much.



I was there when they put him into my hands. Yes, hands. He was that small in stature that, with my hands under his head and back, his little butt aligned with my wrist. Which is so bizarre considering his birth weight. But he was swollen. From fluids. From drugs. I look back at his newborn photos and see that now. This is why he lost over a full pound in a little over a day. Which they mistook as a nutrition issue, and is thus why we were made to give him formula from day one. I'm so sorry for that because that isn't how it is supposed to be. But not really sorry because he is here. The drugs, the fluids, the hormones, and yes, the formula...they all worked.



I was there in those first nights. When I would just cuddle with him and breathe in the smells of newborn breath. With the downy top of his tiny head tucked under my chin, I realized I could've lived my entire life just like that. And suddenly, I didn't give a damn about medical school or whether they would hold my job open long enough for me to come back to work. I would find another job, do something else for school.



I was there when that smile first flashed at me. That bright, amazing smile. All gums and innocence and joy. As if a million stars were harnessed and placed right here for me. And those first baby giggles. My heart melted. And soared.



I was there. For each day in the life of this baby boy. For an entire year. Me. I was that lucky, that blessed to wake up (or return from work) each day and witness a new miracle unfold in this boy's life. To feel the sheer joy this baby has brought to the world. The love. The patience. And the best part is that I get to continue to be there, that this is not the end but the beginning.



I was there when God (or Allah or Yahweh or Jehovah or whomever you place your faith with) decided that this world was good enough for Zachary. That my life was good enough for Zachary. That I am good enough for Zachary. I'll never understand how that is possible.



I was there for the first minute, day, week, month....The first year in the life of a living miracle.




Happy First Birthday, Zachy.

(Photo Credits: The Eleven-month photos from the video, the cake-smash photos from the video, and the photo in this post were all taken by Katie Woodring (http://www.katiewoodring.com/). Though I purchased the copyrights to these photos and am in no way infringing legally on her rights as an artist, I am giving credit where credit is due. Thank you, Katie.)

Houston, We Have a Problem (Maybe...Probably)

I'm sorry if this is you. So, so sorry. But this is my little piece of the Blogosphere and therefore I must be honest here: There is very little on this earth that irritates me quite as much as a walkie-talkie kid...with a pacifier in his mouth or a bottle in his hand. In my mind, if you are big enough to walk and talk, it is time to surrender the binky. Again, I'm really sorry if this applies to you. I'm now having flashbacks to the distant relatives who arrived at a family function with twin 4-year-old boys with both pacifiers and diapers. If your kid can not only tell you, "Hey mom, I shit my pants," and then follow that up by going and getting the wipes and a clean diaper and bringing them to you, then I think it may be close to time to start some sort of toilet learning with them. Call me crazy.
I remember going through this with Evan. Just like with Zach, he had a brand of pacifier he preferred. We discovered this and bought in bulk. Well, because anyone knows that pacifiers are disposable: you could buy 1 or 1,000 and no matter what, when you need one you will not be able to find it to save your life. But Evan preferred Mam pacifiers. And we loved them. He had one to match every outfit. And then one day, somewhere around 6 or 7 months, he just stopped needing one or wanting one. No problem, no worries. The same happened with his bottle. I offered him cups around 8 months or so, once he started drinking small amounts of juice. We had the nothing-but-formula-in-a-bottle rule. And he took to the cup right away with no problems. And when he was about 10 or eleven months, I just decided one day to stop the bottles. We never looked back. Diapers were another story. The kid was in Pull-Ups forever, and one day I will tell you all of my gut-splitting attempts to con Ev to use a toilet.

Zach's first birthday is less than a week away, and the kid not only will not let go of the pacifiers, but he refuses (and I mean refuses) to use anything to drink other than a Tommee Tippee bottle. We have tried every cup out there, I think. Soft spouts, hard spouts, no spouts. Spill-proof or not. Bright colors. Handles to help him hold them. It really doesn't matter. The Tommee Tippee line even gives us the ability to change the nipples in the bottles with soft, nipple-like silicone spouts. I thought this would work, since the spout would be the only thing different. The bottle will look the same and feel the same in his hand. But no. The milk/water/ juice comes out too quickly for him and he spits it out.
They tell you not to worry about it, that nobody ever goes off to college still on a bottle. But in my mind, we should be maing this transition.
Any ideas?

Nuh-Unh, No Way, Not on Your Life

Kids are so funny. And it amazes me to see their little personalities come out in a big way. And Zach's has come out.

What happened to my cuddly chubster? I don't know where he went. Instead, he has been replaced by this short little person with quite the temper. And he throws these little fits when something isn't going the way he would like. I could say it is aggravating. I could say it is annoying.
Mostly, it's just really cute. Zach, the infinitely happy, easy-going baby, can cry, can be unhappy. And just like the goofy amusement I had that he could pee and poop and all of his stuff worked upon his birth, I am eqully amused at this.

So when you are about 2 inches tall and someone feeds and clothes you, wipes your butt for you, and basically spends their days and nights trying to amuse you, what is it that makes you mad?

Holding him. Oh my God, don't do that. He must be free. To roam. and explore. To investigate the workings of anything from the remote control, to my laptop, to a table leg. It really doesn't matter. He wants to be down. And going. Even though he can't walk. (Wait, scratch that! He can walk. He took two steps the other day and I thought I could've fainted, but I remember my squeals of delight shocked Evan into falling, so I was sure to be really quiet this time around. And Zach stopped and must've realized he was on his own, because he lowered himself to the floor and crawled to wherever he was going.) And he is fast. Very fast. And when he knows you are coming to get him, he giggles and goes even faster. But picking him up??? He'll cry and thrash and squirm until you give in and put him down again.

Do not try to change the diaper. He will get pissed. I even took the mobile out of his crib (because he was getting tall enough to pull on it) and mounted it on the changing table to give him something to play with and look at during the process. Nope. He had none of it. He screams and cries and carries on like you would not believe. And turns over. And tries to escape your grasp. And let me tell you that I am no novice. I can put a diaper on upside down, sideways, blindfolded and more. But our Houdini is a challenge even for me.

Put clothes on him. Don't get me wrong. We aren't hillbillies. Zach always has clothes on. Cute clothes. Coordinated little outfits. Designer labels. He even has cute "loungewear" as I call it--not really pajamas and not really clothes I would take him out in now that he is older. But he absolutely hates the process of getting dressed. I think it is the same issue as with diaper changes. And being down on the floor. He wants to go go go go.

Feed him. Don't even think about spoon-feeding him. He will clench his little mouth shut and shake his head. He's all about the finger foods these days. And other than peanut butter and shellfish (because, face it, food allergies are crazy on my side of the fam), he eats what we eat. Anything. Anywhere. I even picked up this product at BRU called the Tiny Tot Diner made by Summer Infant: a soft silicone placemat with suction cups all around it that attaches to a table at a restaurant, and even has a tray to catch dropped food. And after, it folds into itself to be brought home and tossed into the dishwasher. And he does great. I've been giving him chunky-handled utensils to practice, but things like yogurt and applesauce still come from us and the spoon are still our territory. And he hates it. His favorites are Gerber Graduates Lil' Crunchers in just about any variety of flavor they come in. And puffs. He loves the organic puffs. And arrowroot cookies. And those fruit and yogurt snacks. And any kind of fruit you want to give him. Just don't try to to spoon-feed him, no matter what you do.

Don't confine him at all. In a carseat, a pack & play, a high chair (unless the food is there and ready for him to get down to business). He must be free. As mentioned above, the same rules apply.

He's becoming more independent. He's growing up just a little bit. He's moving away from being my cuddle bug and into being his own little person a little more every single day. And I have 12 days left of his first year. It almost feels like a deadline, like his baby days are wrapping up and I have to hurry and get all of the baby things done now while I still can. It has gone so fast.

Who Pulled All of Those DVDs Out: The Anatomy of a Crime

Hint: It wasn't Evan this time....

Hmmmm, what's this????
Daddy's right there. Is he gonna stop me?

Nope, I'm gonna go for it!

I don't want that one!

Argh! Busted by Mama!

I'll try a new approach: STANDING!

Delayed

Evan is recovering nicely from his recent illness, which I'm thinking was viral. Zach ran a temp between 102 and 103.5 all weekend, and although it broke Sunday morning and has not returned, his inbility to tell me what hurts had me taking him to our family doc yesterday to be sure all is well. Yay for Zach! Everything checked out fine, so it was either viral or was caused by teething. (Nope, no teeth yet). While there, with a doctor I work with repeatedly in the ICU's, we went over Zach's milestones again. He's so hard to gauge because I compare him to Evan, who did everything at the speed of light, except for speaking. And I have tried to be laid-back about the whole thing: Zach will do whatever when he's ready to do it.
The moral of the story is that the doctor is worried not about Zach's fine or gross motor development--those have a way of catching themelves up and any mild slowness has mostly been the result of prematurity or simply from baby chunk and resolves itself. But he was worried about the sensory stuff: that Zach still, at 9 months, gags on anything thicker than nectar-thick (the consistency of pudding is too thick for Zachy!), that he isn't babbling mamama/ dadada/ bababa yet. And so the first step is an appointment with an audiologist at my hospital to ensure that there is no hearing impairment. I should mention here that we don't think there is at all, but since it is the number one source of this sort of delay, it has to be ruled out. I can tell you that his newborn hearing screen was perfect, as was the more indepth one they did because he was premature. He has never had problems tracking us by the location of our voices. When we speak to him, he looks and smiles. We are both sure that his hearing is fine. It is more of formality than anything. Something we have to rule out in order to go to the next step.
So what is the next step from there? Well it could be one of two things. Given that Zach has always had green nasal drainage from birth, it is entirely possible, according to our doctor, that there is a pocket of fluid in his ears. It also is unlikely because he has never had a single ear infection, and usually babies with drainage problems will have fequent ear infections. We are really hoping this isn't the case with Zach because it will mean he will need tubes in his ears. Surgery. I don't even want to think about it.
So after both of these are ruled out, Zach will be seeing a developmental specialist at Cincinnati Children's Hospital Medical Center. I have mixed feelings about this. I hate that he has to even go there. This is where the overzealous doctor made the false allegation with Ben, for starters. It is also where Ben was treated by the team of pediatric cardiologists, and thus holds some very painful memories for me. And that place is terribly depressing. Nothing will make you appreciate your healthy children like a stroll through that place,where you are liable to see anyone from newborns to teens with these horrifying medical conditions. And then on the other hand, there is relief. Because while you never want to need them, you feel absolutely grateful that there is a facility a stone's throw from home that breaks ground daily in just about any treatment for children imaginable. They even work in collaboration with Good Sam to do surgery in utero if need be (Yes, it's called The Fetal Surgery Center of Cincinnati or something like that). (Good Sam is the OB Mecca I griped about while on bedrest if you followed my pregnancy blog. Gah! I hated going to that place!) If there is something wrong with Zach or he needs any sort of treatment or therapy, I can trust them not only to find it, but to be completely competent at treating him. And that is about the only ray of sunshine in this whole Godforsaken mess.
Because I cannot get it out of my head that this is my fault. That I should've lied about my contractions while pregnant. Because if I would have done that, there would have been no home uterine monitor. And thus no trips to the hospital. And no drugs. And no early c-section. But my God, the drugs...3 months of the Brethine pump, plus the oral form I took before the pump and the subcutaneous injections I got each time they sent me to the damned hospital. The mag sulfate--evil, evil mag sulfate. The indomethacin. The steroids to speed him up in there. The damned pain meds it took to get me through that last month, which my OB assured me were safe. And the progesterone shots. I keep wondering which one it was, knowing full and well that it is likely none of them that did this. Which brings it back to me. Which takes me back to those last months of my pregnancy and makes me contemplate whether I could've held on longer. It's so easy to speak of this now when I have had nine months with my angel and am free from that pain. But then? If I put myself back in that place, I think I can honestly say that I did the best I could. Me and my uterus of which medical mysteries are made. I have to be nicer to myself about this. I was in an active labor pattern for months--literally--and I effing functioned like that. Yes, I did the best I could. And while I am not trying to stroke my own ego here, I think I would be hard-pressed to find many others who could've endured that for as long as I did. But still...
And John's reaction! Argh! Since he dropped Zach and I off for the appointment that was supposed to be a routine check and ran errands with Ev, I had to explain all of this to him. And his response to all of this still infuriates me: " ARE YOU TELLING MY SON IS GOING TO BE RIDING THE SHORT BUS TO SCHOOL??????" Seriously. And then: "We'll have to get a 'Slow Children Playing' sign for the yard just for Zach." I know he was just trying to make me laugh, but still. I could've killed him, I swear. Completely unhelpful and inappropriate, John.
So anyway...
I have to wait. I have to hope all is well, or that his delays are so mild that minimal therapy will fix it all. I still hate that we are in this place.
The ball starts rolling on February 28th, when Zach sees the audiologist...

9 Months

Today, my Zach is 9 months old. I cannot believe we are 3/4ths of the way through his first year. Gah!
He is still working on that first tooth. Just when I think I am going to have to pay professionals to surgically help him, he shows me, once again, that he will do it all in his own time. Yesterday, when I felt his gum with my finger, it felt like it might be breaking through finally. I went to check the progress this morning and he puckered his lips and shook his head as if to say, "No way, Lady." So I have no more progress to update than that.
Speaking of "when he woke up this morning",I went into his room and gasped in horror. He was laying face down. The plan was to peek in and check on him without waking, but the position he was in freaked me out so badly that I instantly reached down and poked him to make sure he was breathing. His entire upper body was out of the swaddler and he had rolled over to get into a comfy position for him. Too bad it is a position that completely scares the crap out of me. The risk of SIDS is supposed to be virtually nonexistent after 6 months, so just when I think we are in the clear, I remind myself that Zach is almost 2 months younger than his chronologic age. So up until now, he has still been swaddled in order to sleep. This morning changed that, I think. Of course whether or not he will sleep without the swaddler remains to be seen. There may be some rough, sleep-deprived waters in our near future.
He has started to do some major catching up in the past month. Pulling himself up about three quarters of the way. Graduating to the big boy carseat. Really, truly sitting up. Transitioning from a prone position to sitting. His cognitive skills are great. When he's sitting in front of you and you clap your hands, his little face lights up and he takes over for you, using his hands to clap yours. Yesterday, John was singing the Pat-a-Cake song to him and Zach was doing all of the motions for John using John's hands. He'll pick up his binky or bottle and try to put it in my mouth, his version of sharing. If he gets ahold of my glasses, he'll try to put them on his own face, because, hey, that's where they go, right? Right now, we're working on the finer points: his ring stack; blocks; nesting cups; the concepts of in/out, over/under, etc. I bought him a set of these large soft blocks and have been working with him on how to build stacks, and he knocks them down, squeals with delight, and throws them at me. Oh, well. We'll get there. Thankfully,I bought the soft blocks...
Zach has quite the little personality. When I was at BRU buying the carseat and lightweight stroller this past month, it became apparent that I would be needing a new Floppy Seat. Ours was actually fitted to a cart with no elastic and was too complex for words. As a result, it remains on Zach's closet shelf, unused. We bought the actual brand Floppy Seat instead and since he now is out of the infant carseat, it goes with us to stores so Zach can sit in the shopping cart. And he does. He perches like a little prince and stares at everything and everyone. Shopping takes twice as long because he is way more visibile now and with his chubby, rosy cheeks, he looks like the fricken Gerber baby. So random strangers stop us over and over, and of course social Zach smiles and coos and babbles at them, and so they talk to him even longer. And in case someone doesn't notice him, he will let out a yell until they do, and then laugh and smile when they look his way, and the above process starts. Evan was like this, too. For some reason, my children have no concept of stranger anxiety and would be easy as pie for a pedophile/kidnapper/axe murderer to snatch.
He eats well, too. That's no shock if you've seen pics of him. We've yet to have any food challenges. Well, unless you count the fact that anything thicker than pudding gags him. I think this is more of a developmental thing and will pass. He doesn't like veggies though. Feeding him has gotten just a tad more difficult in that he insists on trying to help. He's also very interested in our food, our drinks. And I doubt that, no matter how creative I get with rationalizations, I can fit my Diet Mt. Dew into the all natural diet I have created for him. This is probably the greatest source of frustration because no matter how much he wants to try our stuff, he has the GI system of a 7 month old and so I know he isn't ready to handle it yet.
All-in-all, he's still an absoute joy. I keep waiting to hit a rough patch or a challenge and we never do. Teething hasn't phased him. Solid foods hasn't. Sleep never did. Where did this easy, happy baby come from? We haven't encountered an ear infection, a cold, a runny nose. He's not been sick once. Even with baby-proofing the house! I can be more laid-back with Zach because if he starts to go after something we don't want him to, all we have to do is say, "No, Zachy", and redirect him, and he is fine with it. I couldn't do any of this with Evan, who was hell on wheels.
So there you have it. The plan for the next month is to have his pics taken and start to plan for his birthday. Both are going to be big operations because last time we visited the photographer, we did pics of just Zach. I was thinking we need new pics of Evan as well this time when John informed me he also wants family portraits. Meaning I have to be in the shots, too. And I am the least photogenic person in the world, so I dread it. And for his birthday, we are thinking of going down to John's mom's to have his birthday party, which requires planning and requests for days off. His first birthday. I cannot believe it will be here that soon.
In closing, here are some pics, starting with an atrocious one of me with Zach as we slept on the living room floor after I got home from work one morning. Of course, John had to get out the camera.

8 Months and a Nagging Feeling

Yesterday, Zach turned 8 Months Old. I couldn't blog because I was out and about town. Upon returning home, John and I watched The Social Network, which I had been wanting to see. All of this served as a good way to stall the 8 Months post, which is great, since I have dreaded saying what I am about to say.

I'm worried about Zach. I really am. He is doing nothing new this month. He still just scoots instead of actual crawling. He's gotten better at it. He's quicker, and I can tell he's stronger by the way he reaches and turns. He'll get almost up to where he is on one leg, with the other three appendages up in te air trying to get stuff that has caught his interest. He'll sit unsupported for a couple of minutes before he suddenly faceplants or flops backward, which means I have to worry about him getting hurt and so I always just lay him on his back to play unless I am sitting right there. We aren't making any consonant sounds when we babble. He still has no teeth.

So what is he doing? Well, he's doing everything a little better and more purposefully. When we are out of his sight, he looks for us. The same with toys, which tells me he understands object permanence. When playing with him on the floor, he'll pull you toward him and put his mouth on your face to give a kiss. He's taking solids better. He'll finally hold his own bottle, though we still cuddle with him at feedings. He's very very social and can command the attention of an entire room of people. Yesterday, we were at lunch when his smiles, giggles, squeals and coos had strangers in the restaurant coming up to our table to comment on his cuteness. He can do the whole pincer grasp thing now. And he wants to play. He loves clapping hands. One day, I was trying to teach him to clap his hands by taking his hands with mine and clapping them for him. Instead he learned how to clap my hands and so now he will grab my hands with his and clap them for me. He's still a chubster. He's engaging and happy. He watches everything like a hawk and you can just see him learning!

But the things he isn't doing yet just grabs my attention and induces worry. I keep reminding myself of his prematurity in an effort to quiet the nagging feeling. I'm sure this has a little to do with some of it, as does the fact that every baby is different and that babies don't develop uniformly. They may mature by leaps and bounds in the cognitive arena one month then turn and make strides in the motor skill area the next month. Evan did all of the motor stuff way early and by the time he was a year old, we already had him in a toddler bed because he had learned to escape his crib and I was worried the leap to the floor would hurt him. But then he talked really late, prompting us to hae him evaluated by a developmental interventionalist. Turns out all was fine and when he did finally speak, instead of monosyllable babble, it was in clear and complex sentences. I'm hoping Zach will be the same and will do everything in his own time.

So for now, the plan is to watch and see what happens this month. He goes for another well-child appointment next month, and if I am still so worried, I'll discuss it with the doc and get a referral to have him evaluated. In the meantime, I will stew over every dose of every medication they gave me while I was pregnant and I'll worry about every day that we could have kept him in there and didn't. And I will fret that this is all my fault and if I would have just lied about the contractions, all would be fine right now...

My Baby's Okay, Your Baby's Okay: On Comparison

We all do this. If you tell me you don't and never have, I will know you are a liar! We compare our babies. We hear of milestones reached and wonder if there is something wrong with our bundle of joy. Or junior only poops so often, but the baby next door poops more. Or less. Why? What's wrong with Junior's bowels??? I think this is normal. Silly, but normal. Because the ages given for milestones in baby books are just estimates and usually represent a range of age. And all babies are different. My baby sleeps through the night and has since he was 2 weeks old. (This has nothing to do with your post, B, other than it was fresh in my mind, and thus just an example.) He does this not because he is freakishly gifted at sleep. He does this because he is a heavy sleeper and sleeps like a rock. Just like my husband. I, on the other hand, am a light sleeper and wake all night, just like Evan did. This has nothing to do with my parenting skills or my baby's development. It's just who we are.

So now on to the other comparison: Mean-Spirited One-upsmanship. (Did I spell that right? Is it even a word???)
Of course with this, I am referring to people who will compare kids just to gloat. To literally feed off of that insecurity that mothers naturally have and pick and pick and pick.....
I heard it the whole time at the family Christmas.
"Zach is so fat. He's almost bigger than Baby X, and Baby X is 13 months old!"
Same person: "Zach doesn't sit up without any help yet??? Why, Baby X did that when he was just 5 months old!"
or, "Why doesn't Zach crawl yet? Baby X did by then."

But what could make this worse? To be the mom of a preemie. Scratch that--to be the mom of a big preemie. Because Zach looks big. He looks older. But he's actually younger. Gah!
I bit my tongue everytime something else was said. I finally had had enough. And I went off.
" Yes, Zach's fat! I'm glad. I'm so fricken happy he is. Because you know what? It could've been soooooo different. And I have painfully and incessantly hooked myself up to a breastpump every 2 hours for the past almost 8 months to give him the best nutrition possible. And look! It worked!
"And no, Zach may not do all of those things yet. But Zach was almost 2 months premature!!!! Zach is a miracle, and really is only 5 months old. So if you do the math, Zach really is advanced for his age."

It really was infuriating. Competition over who has the better baby just like who makes more money, has the newest car, lives in the nicest house. Whatever. Get over it. Please do not apply your dysfunction to my offspring. Because my kids are completely normal, and your tactics aren't going to work on me. But the whole thing just reminded me of how we parents do. We torture ourselves, independent of the one-uppers, without provocation.
Our kids are fine.
As for the mean-spirited one at Christmas? It continued the rest of the night, despite my ignoring. To combat it, I made my own little comparison in my head, silently to myself: "Okay, say what you want, but my kid's way cuter!"