In the last two months you've ended up persuading me not to sell you to the gypsies. At the beginning, I was unconvinced cynic that I am, that you were worth your feed, so to speak and let me say -- you feed uncommonly bountiful. Good thing we're well stocked.
Anyways, every night before you went to sleep I patted your head, sung a lullaby as you attempted to get both legs behind your head and said, "You're too swell, tomorrow though I'm selling you."
That morning and evening would come and go and you would slyly do something winsome that would postpone the inevitable and make me say, "One more day, my little lad."
- You can sit up by yourself.
- You can shout "Li-AR" exceptionally well, although it's probably an incognizant mistake, it's a great party trick.
- You make me throw the blanket over your head in the morning and laugh at my gargoyle faces (I'll have you know you're one of only two people in existence who will humor me in this way and god bless you for it)
- You've started eating mushy peas and bananas, WHILE sitting up.
- You roll over. And the opposite way.
- If I'm reading you HAVE TO HAVE MY BOOK. I've just started reading to you from my own and you respectfully listen, head cocked, grunt when I've spoken an especially profound line, and in general have led me to believe that you might end up being of the learned sort. Not a complete tool. That's all I ask of you
- You told me the other day that "It's okay, don't bother, I'll change my own poop diaper" and promptly hopped your little white butt (that you might have inherited from me) into the tub. (this one might have been marginally mixed with a powerful daydream I've been harboring.)
I must add here to your list of accolades that you now no longer take delicate little baby poops. Thanks to the introduction of human food you have joined the males of your species in taking manly craps as well as the look of triumph on your collective faces when the mission is accomplished.
Each day, each night. Until finally I relented and consented to keep you for good. I guess this means it's 25 to life. Maybe they'll let me off at 18 for good behavior.
It's not all sweet sunshine and baby gurgles.
You've woken up some nights screaming "I AM A MIND-NUMBING SLEEP DEPRIVER!!!" in my ear while jabbing your babysoft heels into my lower abdomen. Thankfully, you pick the days when I have to be up at 7:30 to introduce me to Mr. Hyde.
Charming gentleman, that guy.
I can't complain about much else. You're kind of a bargain. And as with all bargains you can't help but wonder when the defect will raise it's sneaky ugly head, a faulty transmission, a puzzle with just one piece missing..but so far you've managed to hide it from my wary eye.
I'm pretty much satisfied with my deal, just don't let me catch you seducing the maid cause then it's outs for you. Thanks for showing me that good can tip the scales more heavily than the bad can. I love you...and I'ma going to eat your tummy.