Tater tot

Kyle is no longer a just a homebody. These days, he regularly goes out on neighborhood strolls, and this past weekend he went to church for the first time. These ventures do come with certain risks, though. We are extremely cautious with each encounter we make with another person, and Jennifer has come awfully close to tackling those who attempt to touch our little one. We don't want Kyle to catch any diseases, such as a cold, the flu, or disco fever. But most of all, we're concerned that these other people might try to eat him.

I never thought much about the threat of cannibalism before Kyle was born. It wasn't something covered in our birthing class, and when he was born, nobody asked if we wanted fries with him. But now we're wondering whether our friends and family are smacking their lips thinking of our little one.

Just a few days ago, one of our friends wouldn't stop talking about how Kyle has great "frog legs." Shortly afterwards, her fiance said his little toes looked like kernels of corn. At that point, we had to kick them out of our apartment and ban them forever. Granted, we wouldn't have been as upset if these were simply acquaintances or gourmet chefs... but these friends are on the short list of possible BABYSITTERS for Kyle. How can we be sure now that they won't sprinkle some seasoning on him the moment Jennifer and I head out the door?

We can always pray that Kyle won't ever be used as a main course, but that's also tricky to do, especially when our church's congregation has hungry eyes for our munchkin. When one member met Kyle this past weekend, she called him a "little pork chop." Others just drooled when they saw him, many asking how much he weighed, as if he was a slab of beef for grilling. In the meantime, we set the baptism for next month - I just hope they don't Christen him with barbecue sauce.

(Above: Kyle thinks he's tasty)

With all these stomachs growling for Kyle, you might think that the only safe place for him would be at home. Yet he's not even safe here. My parents were here last weekend, and my mother - yes, my own mother - said Kyle was born with "chicken legs." She is now impressed with how "plump" he has become. What's that supposed to mean?!? And next week my mom will return to New York to help us out with - of all things - the cooking! You can be sure I will be keeping a close eye on her.