Charles Alban Paulson Tate

Charlie has been out and about for six months now.  SIX MONTHS. 

 When Charlie was six weeks, I put together a nifty little video of all of his cuteness.  I started to post another post.  I got distracted.  I can't tell if Charlie just needs to be held more than my other chickens, or if I am so out of practice.  I don't remember how to raise a baby, and, somehow, I've done it for six months now.  I've been overwhelmed by adjustments- to this place, to our house, to our new life as a pastor's family, and our new status as outsiders.  Things still TASTE differently here, and I feel like I am not nearly as good about knowing exactly what to do with my new little being.  For all that, he's sweet and wonderful, and we're good, very good, to be where we're supposed to be.

  I tell my kids, and everyone, because I find it easy to forget, and important to remember, that everything worth doing takes work, and the more worthy the thing is, the harder it can be.

 Josh has nicknamed Charlie, "Good."  He's been here for five million years already.  He can sit up on his own, but he can't roll over from his back to his front yet.  He has two teeth.  He's had reflux, and sleeps sporadically, and is sweetness, just sweetness when he sees me after a long separation of five minutes.  He hates being cold.  He loves his siblings.  His siblings are crazy about him, too.  We all are.