My baby looks like Winston Churchill

There are few things I like more than burping my baby. Patting him on his back puts him at peace and often helps sooth him by letting off a little extra pressure. It makes me feel good to take a cranky baby and calm him with little more than a few taps of my hand.

I often sit him up on my knee when I’m burping him because I love looking at his face during the whole process. The sight of his jiggling jowls pleases me to no end; he looks fat and happy. As he relaxes into the burping his head starts to roll forward and his eyes begin to squint to little more than slits. He takes on the appearance of an portly old man who has had a couple of good stiff drinks. For a couple of weeks I stated that he looked like a fat old man, but couldn’t quite encapsulate who he looked like until tonight.

At dinner tonight my mother-in-law said, while burping him on her knee, “he looks like Winston Churchill.” Brilliant! I could not put my finger on his likeness until then, but she pegged it. I swear, if he had a cigar and a derby you would have no problem mistaking him for a British prime minister. I know that’s not the most flattering of analogies, but for some reason the traits that mark poor diet and heart disease in old men look cute on kids. I know that this will only last for a little while, but I love the look of his fat little body perched on my knee. I think maybe I’ll start calling him Prime Minister.