Now comes the emotional rant.
It's seems rather unfair that God allows such love for a person to happen. A friend was talking about her kids and how they were "a little piece of her heart, just out there walking around." Yep, that pretty much sums it up.
From the moment I set ears on him (that's a whole different story which, if I'm being honest, I doubt I will share) I was smitten. Don't get me wrong, I hated that I didn't sleep more than one and half hours at a time for two months straight or that I felt like a human Dairy Queen. But there was something about that sweet little cry. If he could talk, he would have said, "What the H is going on?" And I wouldn't blame him. By the looks of it, being born is quite traumatic, for all parties involved.
Now he is three. He goes to the bathroom on his own (not sad about that one) and likes to back-sass. He's sarcastic without even trying and he is Justin's spitting image.
He pushes his sister about forty times each day. And then he immediately feels guilty and hugs her until she's blue. He likes milk by the gallons and refuses to eat red meat.
To My Sweet Little Boy,
Here is to you and me. You are my son, my love, and my friend. I will protect you for all of my days, and you will always know how much you mean to me. Even when you don't deserve it. Because let's be honest, there will be days like that.
It wouldn't be a good post if I didn't show you Luie's latest attempt to photo-bomb. If you want to her to ruin a photo of yours, please let me know. She is available every day except from 1-3 pm, when she pretends to nap.