Or Zac Efron. Whichever.

The newtlet and I sometimes go to the public library for baby story hour because it's fun and it gets us out of the house. And that is how it came to pass that last month, as a lark, I signed the little man up for the kids' summer reading program, pledging to read 30 books by August first.

Good little library citizens, we went back on Friday to turn in our completed pledge card, and I was surprised to learn that the prize for summer reading success is a GOLD MEDAL. Like the little man had just won the baby Olympic luge event or something. I sat him down on top of the check-out counter, and the librarian made a lovely little ceremony of putting the award over the newtlet's neck, shaking his little hand, and congratulating him on his achievement. My son beamed.

(Here I was going to make a joke about how the newtlet insists on wearing his medal everywhere we go, but I feel obligated to note that that would actually be a choking hazard, so...joke redacted.)

Since I foolishly neglected to bring my camera to the library--little knowing there would be a podium ceremony--the newtlet insisted that we take a picture when we got home, with a sampling of his books arrayed artfully around him. So internet, here's the victory lap:


And now it's official: I have a champion baby.

Michael Phelps's mom is on a book tour right now, promoting her memoir about how to feed your kid 26,000 calories a day so he can swim really fast. I wonder if Random House would be interested in the inspiring story of Mama Newt, who sat in a squeaky rocking chair reading two, sometimes three board books a night, gently but firmly turning the pages even when the baby tried to put the whole book in his mouth, gritting her way lovingly through the linguistic contortions of Dr. Seuss's ABC's from Aunt Annie's Alligators to the Zizzer-zazzer-zuzz.

It could be a great Movie of the Week someday. Sandra Bullock could play me, and maybe one of those Jonas Brothers could play the newtlet. They seem like nice kids.