I believe

In God.

In Diet Coke.

That my kids will eat when they're hungry.

That TV can be good for you (or at least entertaining).

In reading Books.

In reading Magazines (from USWeekly to the Economist--anything in magazine form is interesting)

In spending time with my kids--together and separately

In spending time with Nu--with our kids, with our friends, and just us.

In gadgets.

That G00gle is systematically brainwashing me through it's awesome applications, and I don't care.

In junk food.

That junk food will make me fat, so I can't eat too much.

In marshmellow peeps.

That twittering is a form of advanced social discourse.

That most problems can be solved with a nap.

That TV presidents should listen to Jack Bauer the first time.

That organic food is not a priority because it's not as convenient as frozen and/or prepared food.

In the wonderful goodness that is Movie Theater Popcorn.

That my friends keep me sane.

That Lipstick Jungle was unfairly canceled.

My name is . . .

. . . Blake

Mommy calls me "Blakey Bear" and my big brother calls me "Bwake." I am the smallest of all the Yamas but have grand aspirations to someday grow out of Newborn Diapers (February is my month--I can FEEL it!).

My special gift is my Tried-and-True-Patented-Face-of-Heartbreaking-Pathetic-Sadness. When I stick out my lower lip, it is almost impossible for adults to resist my powers. Mommy has supplied many an extra meal to end my unbearable misery of being a little bit thirsty.

I am a great daytime sleeper and a mediocre nighttime sleeper. I love being swaddled and usually calm down fairly quickly after a meal.

My eyes are half of my face. When I'm awake, I look HYPER alert. Coupled with my old-man hairstyle, I am a chick magnet.

While in utero, I periodically stressed out my parents with wacky test results and measurements. After all that worry, it turns out that I was just a typical Yama--short with a big head and crazy hair. My parents thank God daily for my good health.

I am awesome at Tummy Time. I love practicing head-turning and leg kicking. I'm so good at it that I rolled off the ottoman onto the floor when I was about 3 weeks old. My parents were 12 inches away.

My family loves my Flipper noises. They say my squeaks and grunts sound quite Dolphin-like and think I have a promising career at Sea W0rld.

I am almost 7 weeks old.

My name is . . .

. . . Casey

And I'm a milk addict. I sniff and snort like a piglet when it's time to eat. After each meal, I fill up my diaper and you can hear it 100 yards away. It sounds like a quart of oatmeal being thrown at a brick wall--only worse. And the smell . . .

When I'm not creating a scene with my "elimination" habits, I smile at my Mommy. And my dad, my brothers and my sister. I love to sleep and my little blue outfits bring out the color in my eyes.

I have already rolled over several times from my tummy. Maybe not on purpose exactly, but I do have some wicked-awesome head control. I have a love-hate relationship with those velcro straight jackets I wear at night. Sometimes they are very soothing and I sleep like a little puppy. Sometimes they make me cry until my head turns purple and my parents wonder if my eyes will start bleeding any minute.

I have a lot of hair. Not quite as much as my sister at this age, but a little more than my brothers. Because it sticks up, I look remarkably similar to a Monchichi.

I have never had a bath in my own house. Somehow, I have managed to con my "Baba" into bathing me several times a week. Grandparents are the best!

I'm six weeks old.