Heaven Eleven


You’re eleven months old. Today. Or yesterday. I’m really not sure. See, you were born on the 30th. There is no thirtieth day of February so…

The weather is  starting to feel a lot like it did the week you were born. Kinda nice, but then yucky, all at the same time. The reason is because it’s quite literally been almost a year since you were born. You’ve seen almost all of the holidays and season changes. You’ve experienced an almost complete ride around the sun, Son! Way to go!

You are obsessed with wires. Which is funny because so is your dad. Just in different ways. Your dad wants to hoard them. You just want to put them in your mouth. Neither are cute to mommy.

But you know what is cute? Your kisses. Oh. My. Goodness. Your kisses. They are perfect and slobbery and I’m 99.784% sure you know that they mean love.  You grab my face when I try to get away and just keep on giving them. You give them spontaneously, too! Like when we’re walking to the car to go on a Target adventure and  it’s like it just dawns on you that “Hey, I love this lady. Lemme give you a smooch.” And there we are, a mom and baby, having some impromptu kissy time in the parking lot. It’s perfect. You are perfect.

Ok, that’s a lie. You’re not perfect, and the last thing I want to enforce is that complex. You’re actually quite stubborn and sometimes kind of stinky. Those are related because it’s your stubborn refusal to take a bath that leads to your stinky.

I mean, your dad and I seriously contemplated putting you outside during yesterday’s downpour because, “Hey, this could be his weekly bath!”

That’s right. It’s gotten so bad that we’re trying to pass bath time off to God, Otis.  FYI, He is responsible for washing away your sins. Not the dirt under your fingernails.

otis and mommy

Again, no stink or stubborness will EVER make me love you (or those slobber kisses) less.

Love you to the moon and back,

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