Aside from soiling washable cloth diapers and disposable diapers, he’s essentially into sucking into his mother’s burst-into-porn-star proportions-milk-manufacturing boobies. His lullabies include music from the Smashing Pumpkins, Eggstone, Whitest Boy Alive, Sigur Ros, Jeff Buckley and yeah those obscure (only because they are not-so-heard-of) bands that comprise what they call Post-Rock Instrumental. He also gets a usual blast of Chopin, some classical and his mother’s wonderful singing.
He likes being read to, and so far has not been violently reactive when the passages from Daddy’s books are a little too nebulous, or not exactly recommended by the Infant Censorship Board.
Oh, and he’d be probably be rich as Croesus if he got a cent for every snapshot his parents took, or if he took a cent from friends and relatives who thought he was cute.
His other legitimate activities include burping, hiccupping and finally - farting, wet and loud.
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"How should I not be grateful to my whole life? -And so I tell myself my life." Nietzsche, Ecce Homo
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