We remain in search of a nickname for our daughter. It's a critical component of being in the family. Today, we're seeing if pumpkin fits -- after all it's the nickname that Kate was given by her father.

But in the long run we would still like to avoid a derivative nickname, so here are the dozen or so that are currently in the rotation depending on mood and relative amount of sleep deprivation.

There are the food options: fussy sandwiches, fussy sausages, sad-o sausages, sweet peaches, Mrs. Potato Bear, and sugar.

The descriptive options: baby girl, baby lady, baby smiles.

The animal references: little bear, baby monk(ey).

The movie suggestion: Slumpdog Millionaire.

And the undefinables: hoots magoots, kicks mcgicks, sunshine, and samkon sad-o.

Below is Charlotte's reaction to being told she needs to pick a nickname. She was shocked that such a weighty task was being given to the household's smallest member. However, she understood when we informed her that she still had at least five pounds to go before she outweighed Houdini the cat, whereupon she immediately ate the entire pumpkin next to her.

The right hand has finally discovered what the left hand is doing. And after a prolonged struggle in which the right hand discovered that the left hand is a formidable opponent, perfectly matched in strength and grip -- almost as if they were twins separated at birth -- the contest ended in a tie with both participants exhausted.

Shortly after this photo was taken, the right hand stirred first and after a brief shake, finally defeated the left hand -- moving it slowly, but inexorably towards the mouth, where it was then overwhelmed by a copious amount of saliva. Thankfully, that was when the referee stopped the fight, drying the left hand with a burp cloth and declaring the right hand the victor.

The right hand celebrated by sliding a thumb between the pointer and index finger in what can only be seen as either an offensive gesture or the most brilliant thing the baby has ever done.

We've all made unfortunate Halloween costume choices. Mine was most likely a desperation pick in Brooklyn, when I allowed Kate to talk me into being Frodo Baggins -- which consisted of a collared sweater, bare feet, and my wedding ring on a chain around my neck.

So, it's nice to see my daughter two years later following in my footsteps, courtesy of the gift of a baby poncho from a relative. We've decided she looks a bit like the offspring of Samwise Gamgee and is ultimately a much cuter hobbit than her father.

A lot of the day is spent wondering what everybody is thinking about in our house. Above is the latest meeting of the minds. I imagine Charlotte is wondering why one of the puppies from the mobile above her crib has grown tremendously in size. As for Charlie, her motivation would appear to be the same as always -- can I get a lick in before the hands on my sides pull me backwards?

It's hard not to speculate on what the future holds for our daughter. Above might suggest that she is destined to become a Who from Whoville. Which in and of itself would not be a terrible thing as they appear to be an overly generous and curious people -- if a bit obsessed with Christmas.

Her future looks a bit muddier in the photo below, wherein it's easy to see her as someone who is currently between jobs. Either that, or we have a future chicken wing eating champion in our midst.

We are about as far from a casino as one can get these days. But don't presume we are without games of chance.

There is some general excitement after the baby has been fed because whoever is holding her has a very good shot of winning a free trip to the changing table. Accordingly, there is always the possibility that the diaper champ will be full and a rousing session of "Will it fit?" ensues. This is where you repeatedly close and open the handle while shaking the entire plastic bucket, silently saying a prayer and keeping one hand on the baby. It is one of the worst games in the house in terms of odds -- the diaper champ is always full.

But the most popular game in our non-licensed casino is the baby slot machine. You neither have to pull a lever, nor push a button. And once you're holding a baby, you're playing. The baby slot machine is based on Charlotte's current ability to roll through the emotions in a span of seconds. It's as is if a tiny, invisible hand is moving up and down in front of her mouth, while she changes her expression.

And the jackpot? It leaves you both smiling.



*More smiles to come, they are my Bigfoot right now -- capturing them on film has proved elusive.

Since I am woefully underinformed about the abilities and/or general characteristics of children, I tend to rely on Kate for the confirmation of facts before answering a question in regard to our daughter. She's basically the catch-all for potentially stupid answers -- the press secretary of our household.

But it's also exciting for me when Kate proactively shares thoughts on our child's potential development as she is at least six months to a year a head of me with regard to what's coming down the pipeline. I avoid the trailers for movies that I want to see and am crushed by spoilers, as such, I'm only on month two of our voluminous stack of baby preparation books because while I want to encourage proper development, part of me is still seeking the surprise of what will happen next.

But Kate's latest theory is one worth sharing. Last night she talked to me about how kids change and how much of how Charlotte looks and acts now isn't what she'll be like in the future. But Kate also said she's keeping an eye out for particular faces or reactions that seem like they will stick around.

The above face is one that I'm rooting for to stay. It says either, "what, I totally didn't break that..." or "yes, I will partake of your ice cream."

Babies have a lot of firsts -- all of which you want to capture on film and document in books -- as though you're a court stenographer. But last week marked a first for me.

I'm officially a dad. You can chalk it up in the books you're keeping on my progress. I delighted in taking embarrassing photos of my daughter that can be shown to her and potential boyfriends in the future.

A majority of these photo opportunities were during her first bath, which came as a direct result of her umbilical cord finally detaching from her belly button. For those of you that had innie in the belly button pool, please collect your winnings from the office secretary.

While the bath progressed without incident -- everybody got more water on them than they expected, but nobody was sad about it -- the towel portion of the evening may have been the highlight. Yup, that's a green pig towel. We're a full-service operation here at the Bender household.

Some days it would seem as though our house is just one step away from a fictional (as opposed to actual) children's story. Such as this morning, when the lady, the cat, and the baby all slumber in a happy pile.