Your aunt Cici bought a onesie for you that reads, "Hello, My Name is Trouble." Trouble is exactly what you are little mister. You had an appointment yesterday with your pediatrician and he said you are doing,"Not just good, but, Excellent." Then you proceeded to grab his stethoscope with you little baby death grip and not let go. You'll show him excellent, rawr!
You are six weeks old now, and a teensy bit longer than before, but man did you gain three pounds. I think its more like ten and you are just somehow hiding it from the scale. You look like you've doubled in size. In fact, I had to put you in that yellow jumper and take pictures because you will be too big for it next week. You are so sweet and chubby. Too bad you aren't cuddly, nope, if you are sleeping you do not want to be bothered by a mommy who wants to hug and kiss and cuddle. Can' I see that you are trying to sleep?!
Sometimes I catch a smile from you and I think you are really trying to smile at me, but then I learn differently. It is almost always a side effect of you passing gas, or worse. I call you elf-baby or little-little but maybe I should just refer to you as Sir Poops-a-lot, at least then your dad wouldn't be opposed to the nickname.
I want to take a zillion more pictures of you but you aren' t at your most photogenic right now, you have infantile acne and if its any indication of how your teenage years are going to be...well I'm sorry. Truly. You look like the token teenager from the Simpsons. You must get it from your father.
We are going to visit your aunts for the weekend, it should be very exciting for you. In fact, there are so many people that are going to be there that I don't think I'll get to hold you again until Sunday. I'm taking a nap.