This morning my baby woke up with a personality. It’s like he suddenly realized he didn’t have to stay a sticky, damp blob forever and began working on his people skills. And boy are those people skills ADORABLE. I took him to Target this afternoon in the Maya sling and I swear I made every woman in a 10 mile radius ovulate. He was cooing and smiling and flirting with everyone we saw, including one little girl in her mom’s shopping cart who was about 2. I guess he’s going to like older women.

His new awareness of the world means I don’t live in constant fear he’ll wake up while we’re out of the house. I actually had fun at BJ’s today, telling him about what we were buying and who we were looking at. He seems to enjoy the shampoo aisle but not the frozen foods section. He also thought it was hilarious when I made faces at the idiots who blocked the aisles or stood in front of the diapers I wanted for ten minutes. So in case you were wondering, 7 weeks is when “OHMIGOD WHAT HAVE I DONE TO MY LIFE???” turned into “Oh yeah, now I know why people do this!”

In a terribly tragic turn of events, it seems Baby Evan hates french fries. Obviously he’s not the one eating them but his distaste is so clear I won’t be eating them anymore either. Between house guests who made dinner (thanks Erin!) and my own (very very weak) attempts to make healthier meals and save money, we hadn’t had fast food in more than a week…coincidentally, the exact amount of time Baby Evan’s spit-up problem had been steadily improving. I thought he was just outgrowing the puke with stronger stomach muscles. But eight hours after I scarfed down a Wendy’s value meal he spit up so much and so hard he made Linda Blair look like a girl with a mild cold. He went from eating happily and quietly to covering E’s shirt, pants, shoes, two chairs, the entire dining room floor, MY feet, legs and himself with puke. We were about 2 ounces of milk away from needing life jackets.

MAYBE it was just a coincidence. MAYBE the fact that he’s been fine for the last 24 hours has nothing to do with avoiding the drive thru. MAYBE this is Baby’s way of saying “Geez, lay off the fried stuff fatty” MAYBE I’ll test my theory – but only if E is home to call the Coast Guard if things go as badly as I expect they will.

Sigh. Why couldn’t Baby Evan hate something less delicious? He can be as allergic as he wants to brussel sprouts, I promise I won’t complain one little bit.