Much to my surprise, we still have our baby bird, alive and well. After a few days of not giving him a name, Laura finally asked if she could name him “Frizz”. I thought that would be fine, so Frizz he is.

Isaac, Laura and I share the feeding duties for little Frizz. He gets fed every 15-20 minutes or so throughout the day, and then he goes through the night without eating. By morning he is voracious and ready to eat again very eagerly.

Every evening, as I say goodnight to Frizz, I say to him, “Well, you’ll most likely be dead in the morning. Good night, little bird.”

But Frizz continues to defy the odds, and the children are asking over and over, “Do you think he might live?” I can’t argue with the fact that he’s getting bigger and stronger and more lively all the time, so I answer, “Well, he might.” Still, we must be prepared that the little guy might not live.

I’m curious to know what kind of bird he is. Maybe a Robin? No matter what, we can’t keep him once he’s able to fly away, so that is definitely out of the question. Until then, we’re having a lot of fun being parent birds.