Ok, I'm getting fatter now. I might have read the scale incorrectly at the midwife's anyway. According to the scale at the school nurse's office I'm plumping up just fine. The chubby cheeks are coming back. I honestly hope they stay; I used to want a skinny face when I was a teenager and a tubby hippie in college, thinking I would look like a model or whatever but then when the student loan payments started sucking the chub away, I realized that being skinny doesn't really make me happy. And in fact it makes me cold. Whatever, that's enough about my body image.
I am having some fun reading Dr. Sear's baby book, simply because it gives me warm fuzzy feelings about the baby. I think there's a lot about "attachment parenting" circa 1985 that I like and definitely a lot of practical tips that will come in handy. But The Baby Book suffers from the same problem that all baby and birth books seem to suffer: they are written for silly people. I guess I just haven't spent that much time reading informational books for the masses, and the only parenting books I've read as an adult have been by Rousseau, Locke, and Kant. Now, those cranky old guys get a lot of details wrong, like when old Leaky-Socks Locke says to let your kids run around in shoes with holes in them even in the winter, or when Kant says that instead of swaddling your baby, you should put him in a box. But to make up for these small shortcomings, they all certainly have a more sophisticated and interesting understanding of human nature than Dr. Sears. I guess I've been spoiled by philosophical treatises on education, and that's what I'm looking for in a baby book. But I will not get it from the people who explain the action of white blood cells as "like millions of tiny Pac-Men," for they believe that I am in seventh grade.