Owen, two weeks old today, is the world's most perfect newborn. He eats, he sleeps, he only cries when I do something horribly cruel like give him a bath or change his diaper. He rarely spits up and hasn't even peed on me yet. Let's all hope this lasts at least a bit longer, since Chris heads back to work tomorrow and it would be nice if Owen would stay in his compliant and nearly comatose state while I start making the adjustment to being outnumbered by people who pee in their pants 60 hours a week.
Since many of you have asked, no, Owen was not named for my Pretend Celebrity Boyfriend, Clive Owen. If anything, that was a strike against the name. He wasn't named for anybody, but if you are going to demand a namesake, my first affection for the name Owen was probably courtesy of this guy.
Anyway, wish me luck tomorrow. My goal is to get breakfast finished by noon.