“I love this photo book you made!” declared my Shabbos dinner guest as she leafed through the book I made about Baby MoFo’s birth and bris. Actually, to be honest, she said this after she stopped laughing so hard tears poured from her eyes after seeing the picture of–let’s call it “larger than life”–me in labor (it’s not clear if I just carry big because of my short stature or if Coldstone Creamery plays a role in it)–
Then she asked: “Did you make books like this for all your boys?”
I pointed to the thick stack of albums taking up half a shelf on my bookshelf. “All those are about LL,” I said. I also kept a journal about LL–when he rolled over and when he sat up, when he crawled and when he first talked . . .
“And what about Cool J?”
Poor. Middle. Child.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Luckily, Cool J has made his own book. And while it doesn’t quite chronicle the adventures of his birth (3 contractions or so and he was out–not much of a story there!) or bris (snip! all done) or milestones (in his case, the time he ran into an elevator alone in a 50-story building, the time elevator doors closed on his finger, the time he fell out of the attic hatch . . .), it does chronicle his feelings. And his many wonderful facial expressions. And those things that are most important to him. And really–what more could one ask for as a keepsake?
This blog post was inspired by: