Oh wow. Every time I say I have a son, something goes all over me. I have a SON.
|It's tough to say no to this face.|
|exploring the San Francisco airport|
You are Trouble. You love to find electrical cords and will go out of your way to get behind furniture to find them. (Hotels are fun.) You stick your fingers in light sockets, splash in dog water bowls, spill dog kibble all over my kitchen with giggly gusto. Your nana is laughing because you love dog food as much I did. (I admit to nothing.)
|I'm sure you had nothing to do with it.|
|a toy in each hand, as usual|
|Brushing your teeth. All 6 of them.|
|You could swing all day.|
Those gross motor skills are impressive. You've been able to throw a ball from an early age. You are precise and quick when you grab for something. And you usually get it. Whether it's my glasses, my plate, or some poor unsuspecting soul's nipple. You are developing your fine motor skills, too, as we discovered watching you with Sister's pom pom activity.
|We were so proud...that you didn't eat them.|
|spit bubbles and drooly giggles|
As I write these things, you are nestled in the crook of my arm, where you sleep all night every night. You never stir unless I try to escape. The moment I'm free, you're sitting straight up, rubbing your eyes, wondering where I've gone.
|You, sir, are growing up too quickly.|