(the sauce he used to glue the fortune to his forehead)
Here is my sweet little boy, Gerret. I'd like to tell you that he isn't typically this dirty, but that wouldn't be the truth. His affinity for the unclean is just one of the many characteristics he inherited from his odd-ball mother (or so his father claims).
I love Gerret. He makes me smile and laugh. He makes my heart jump into my throat at least once a day as he performs near-impossible stunts. I kindly thank his split personality --Mr. Hyper with that one very wild bone and Dr. Pookyll who is pure, cuddly goodness. With Gerret, I'm never quite sure what to expect, only that it will either make me smile or scare me to death.
And now for the sour.
Gerret is maturing far past any semblance of a baby. Today, for the last time, I mention his age exclusively as a number of months: 23. And now I will stop counting, because next month he will turn two years old. Can you believe it? Does that taste sour to you, too? I'm finding that both the happiest and saddest moments come from watching my boys grow up.
Wow. I cannot believe he is that old. Owen is the same way about being dirty. He loves smashing food into his face (and hair) and hates getting wiped off. Your boys are both so cute. Where does the time go?
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