My boy
Oct 21, 2002 Parenting
Noah woke up last this morning giving me lots of time to work on my categories on the blog. He’s in my lap now talking to himself under his breath.
He’s already had an enormous poop (requiring much-o tushie wiping from me) and he says his “stomach muscle” hurts (although one hopes the giant poop relieved this), and that his mouth is sore. Then just before he climbed onto my lap he said, “Mommy, I hate to be the one to break this to you but look.”
I looked over to see just above the waistband on his sweatpants there is a microscopic scratch.
“You’re feeling pretty battered today, aren’t you?” I asked, putting out my arms. And that, my friends, is how I came to have such a cozy little boy in my lap this shiny autumn morning.
October 21st, 2002 at 1:23 pm
*G* sometimes, Life Is Good.
(ps. enjoy now!
my boy turned 13 this year, and he’s not “my little boy” now, now he’s “straighten up, or I’m going to strangle you” 