Whitman boys.

It’s a photo dump! He gets cuter every day, but continues to maximize his cuteness at the non-photogenic hour of 5 a.m.

My most beloved homie The Doctor points out that while I am giving daddy props to Tycho, whom I have never met but with whom I feel a certain geek camaraderie, I have never properly acknowledged The Doc’s own spawn, the resolutely hirsute Curtis. Click, and go pay tribute to his unearthly locks: The Curt.

See, the reason I instantly felt a frisson of empathy with Tycho is that now I’ve been through it. When The Doc had his kid, T was pregnant but I had no idea that the actual birth would be like a punch in gut, a paadigm-changing slap upside the head. I just thought, “Oh, that’s neat that The Doc and The Nurse have had The Curt, I can’t wait until we have our little squab.” Unaware of the implications, I was. While I was surprised and maybe a little suspicious at the new glimmer in The Doc’s eyes, I didn’t get it, until 5 1/2 months later. Now I do.

So, props to new daddies everywhere. I’m with you, guys.

Tycho’s son was born a month and a day after The Gus. And he too had that new dad feeling of wonderment — “what have we done?” Not a regretful feeling, but a new comprehension of the weight of the event, of its enormity. An appreciation of the hugeness of the tiny person we hold for the first time. And the esprit de corps of new fathers everywhere: “Tycho, I am with you.”

Pics as promised: