While I was talking to RPR today on the phone, I was washing dishes in the downstairs bathroom sink. ("You still don't have a kitchen?"--we haven't spoken since her shower in early February.) Blake, as usual, sang as the water ran. RPR said that when she first heard him--whose song is not singy but squeaky--she thought I was being particularly diligent with a dish, getting it squeaky clean.
More importantly, eight pounds twelve ounces! She is something like 5'2" with small bones. Ow. But the baby is the most beautiful ever, of course, with a full head of black hair, steel gray eyes, and exactly a miniature RPR; plus she demonstrated how brilliant she is by immediately nursing like a pro.