Meet Henry Harper Lockwood, here shown ten days old. Henry is my first (and probably only) grandson.

Henry Harper is the offspring of my daughter, Samantha, and her husband Kip, whose wedding I posted about 21 months ago. He looks placid in this photo, but I just know he's gonna be trouble. On account of I know my daughter. I'm still recovering from the trauma of raising her.

I flew to Santa Barbara to meet Henry. I have to say that like all sub-two-week-olds, he doesn't do much. Eats, poops, sleeps. That's about it. But his family has instantly fallen in love with him.

He produces a wide range of facial expressions, most of which don't appear to be connected to any form of cognition.

But it won't be long before he connects his brain to his face, and the resulting flood of communication is gonna sink his parents.

I accompanied Henry on one of his first outings. Here, his big sister (Kip's daughter, Cassie) propels him down an oceanside path.

In America, we appear to be undergoing another baby boom. Cassie has to yield to an oncoming phalanx of four young mothers piloting their offspring in identical double-wide strollers. Baby-walking congestion.

Henry will probably grow up to be a surfer dude; a fate impossible to avoid when you grow up in Santa Barbara. Those are wetsuits hung out to dry on the side of the white Explorer. Henry doesn't know about wetsuits yet, but when he does, watch out.

He'll be riding his bike down to the beach when his mother isn't looking. Checking the wave action. Buying tins of Sex Wax.

Here he is in his baby cassette, catching some rays, developing his toe tanning skills. A true native Californian.

Grandpa is delighted to meet Henry, but I'm not sure the feeling is mutual. Yet.

But I have lots of spoiling to do. He'll be plenty glad to see me in a couple of years. Bet on it, Sam.

Grandkids are wonderful. As a friend of mine once said, "You can love 'em and give 'em back."