When Tuck was born, I called the hospital after seventy two hours of no poop and was incredibly worried about my guy. If he didn't drop some waste by the morning, we were going to have to take him to the doctor. With Quinton, I'm not worried about his bowels in the slightest. Quinn has given me no reason to worry about him. He sleeps almost all day every day, is feeding better by the day and seems entirely desensitized to noise. The only thing weird about Quinn are his teeth.
Yes. Teeth. Plural.
He has two confirmed teeth (under the gums, thankfully) at the top middle of his mouth. I was feeling around some more today and think I found one more tooth - a lower left canine. Any of these teeth could break through at anytime or stick around for months before trying to make their debut.
The brothers haven't had too much interaction. Tucker isn't jealous and Quinton is too self absorbed to care anyway. I don't mean that in a bad way. Newborns have to be selfish to survive. Compassion comes later.
As of this Friday, I'll be severely limiting visitors that see Quinton. While it's great that people want to see him, it's about to be flu season. I'm not willing to sacrifice hours or days of sanity so that one sniffly person can get their germy hands on my kid. We'll lift the ban sometime in March, April, or whenever people stop getting sick all the time.
Quinn kept trying to chew on his fist, which makes me think we may have a newborn teether.
I was giving Quinn attention, so Tuck put himself in a clothes basket for an hour and casually asked to be let out once Quinn had settled down. Tuck is the ideal older brother.
This was David in the hospital after Quinn was born. It's been pretty much how he's been since we've been home. My big guy likes his sleep. I won't complain, though, because his sleeping genetics have passed on to Tucker and made Tuck sleep twelve to sixteen hour nights at a time. Silly sleepy gingers.
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