It all started when I said in the hospital room, "Well, at least I didn't throw up". Shortly after which, I threw up.

For the past ten days, we've been waiting for the inevitable: the moment where some entity arrives at our home and switches our gentle, pliable little baby with the 'real' Evan - the one who lives up to all the stories we've been told about how tough the first two months are. Because until now, we figured we'd been having it pretty easy.

He'd eat, fart, burp and poop, and then go back to sleep for three hours. Then he'd wake up and repeat. We could just about set our watches by him. We started saying, "Maybe this is just our sweet luck! Maybe this is really his temperment, and we just hit the baby jackpot!"

But something's changed.

He's actually yelled himself hoarse. It would be funny if we weren't so tired. He's tired too, but doesn't seem content with much.

Here starts the boot camp.