He is the pickiest eater I know, though only until he’s forced to try things after which he deems them, “kinda sorta okay.” Of course he must first squirm and moan for a good half hour about having to eat it.
He is dramatic. He doesn’t cry often but when he does the neighbors know it. In fact the people up the street and around the corner may know it.
Eyes on things in his room creep him out at night. So does the dark. And night, in general.
He asks me to read to him every time he’s in the bath. This is a request I can not say not to. He knows it too.
He wants to be strong like his daddy. But he’s soft like his mommy.
He has the best dance moves ever. This frightens me, as does imagining him as a 17 year old.
He is the best handful created to date.
[blogged from my iPhone]