Babies, this week you got your first shots. Grandma Heather ominously warned that your father was never the same after his first shots, that he went from a jolly baby to an infant betrayed by the cruel universe, which is exactly what I wanted to start worrying about in addition to the risk-benefit analysis of a conventional vaccination schedule, the skyrocketing cost of health insurance and how being exposed to to the foul language of Deadwood might be affecting your little brains. Luckily you both came through it fine. Alex screamed bloody murder, as we expected, and even though he went first, I was still soothing him after Anya got hers and Grandpa Mike calmed her down and got her dressed. But it was Anya who had a harder time later in the day: you slept for hours then woke up filled with rage and pain. By the next morning, the storm had passed, and you both cooed and smiled at me in the early light of dawn.
This week you both found a new goal: To thrust your little fists completely into your mouths. I've been trying to get a shot of it, but you are both totally on to me and stop doing it whenever the camera is out.
We also started spending some quality time with music this week. Anya showed a preference for Cee Lo Green, proving that she is in fact my daughter: