My Old Kentucky Home, part 2

We've been in Kentucky for three days now, and I finally made it to the public library to check my email and update this blog.

We went to church yesterday. Going back to my old church always feels kind of weird. It's a Baptist church, but before all y'all recoil in horror, let me qualify this by saying that not all Baptist churches are scary, judgemental and fundamentalist. My parents wouldn't go to a church like that. Still, there are elements that I am not particularly accustomed to, like the invitation at the end of the service, where if you're ready to accept Jesus Christ as your personal savior, you walk up to the front to make that decision public. And the coiffed, made-up middle-aged ladies who gather around the new babies and say things like, "Oh little darlin', aren't you just so cyooooooote [cute]!" in heavy southern accents. Also, yesterday morning was the first time I had sung "Jesus Loves Me" with organ accompaniment.

Little Daniel has done pretty well this trip. I was anxious that he would fuss and cry during the flight down, but he did amazingly well. Our big concern is that he has yet to poop. It's been nine days, people, and I'm starting to get concerned. Breastmilk is a natural laxative and that's all he eats, so I don't think there's anything we can do other than wait. Stuart just talked to the doctor, who told him "it could be up to two weeks," so I guess we're OK. When it happens, I assure you that I'll write about it. It's going to be a doozy of a two-sy.