June 30, 4:24 a.m. That was the time my son was born.

How in the world did we get here already? You wouldn’t think nine months is quick, but it sure felt that way to me.

It feels like just the other day when my wife told me she was pregnant. I still vividly recall the day we found out we were having a boy, and I still find it awkward that I can hug my wife while standing up straight.

My son is a week old now, and I vividly remember the night he was born.

I took my father’s advice and watched everything happen, and that image is burned in my memory for the rest of my life.

These past days are all one big blur, and I find myself having difficulty recalling what day it is. He eats every two to three hours and getting up that frequently does a number on your internal clock.

And this kid can eat. When we left the hospital, he weighed just less than 7 pounds. We were told that we should expect him to gain between one-half and one ounce a day for the first few weeks.

When we took him in for his two-day appointment, he weighed 7 pounds, 7 ounces. He beat his projected weight gain by 700 percent.

For the sake of you, the reader, I won’t go into detail about his bowel movements, which our world currently revolves around. Needless to say, they are numerous and colorful.

But this is the goal! The end prize. The trophy you struggle toward through the pregnancy — a healthy, happy, fat, poopy baby.

And yet no accomplishment feels readily achieved. Now we have this living, breathing creature in our house who depends on us utterly, and unlike the cats, we can’t forget about him every now and then. He has consumed our entire lives.

And it is fantastic.

I know I’m probably biased, but this kid is absolutely adorable. Seriously, this is one cute baby.

After he was born, my wife told me as she held him for the first time, “I’m so glad we didn’t have an ugly baby.”

Personally, he could look like Edward James Olmos for all I care. All I really want is him to be healthy, and that he is.

He has all his parts, everything works, and like his dad, his feet are HUGE. That made me smile a bit.

But as I looked closely at his little face, eyes, nose, ears and mouth, I asked my wife, “Who does he look like? He doesn’t look like me, and he doesn’t look like you. Where did he get this absurdly cute baby face from?”

We had this discussion in front of my parents, who flew down for the first week of my son’s life, and when my mother heard this, she pulled out a photo of a week old baby from 1984 and showed it to me.

It was my son. Except this was nearly 30 years ago.

My boy looks exactly like me.

I joked about it at first, saying the poor kid was going to be goofy looking as he gets older. I told him the small cleft in his chin would be difficult to shave, and his body hair would be substantial.

But once I settled down and thought about it some more, I realized there was a more appropriate response to learning my son is a little clone of myself.

I held him, sat down with him and cried tears of joy.

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