Brody is growing hideously fast.
It hurts to see.
He pulls himself up,
blurts out his favorite line
" glab-bagga blag"
then sprays a shower of drool in my direction.
Pllbbbt.
I'm pretty sure that's how you spell it.
He grabs onto his blankie ( the one with the ties around the edge) and sticks
his pointer along with a tassel in his mouth.
Before we know it,
"glab-bagga"
will be "what's for dinner?".
His hair is starting to get a little bushier.
No more velvety head.
Sniffle.
I go to change his diapers-and you guessed it-
Man-poo.
He is still nursing, but his diet also consists of solids now.
It smells less like yogurt-more like, well, you know.
The minute I put him down- he goes straight for the outlets or potted plant.
He responds to "no".
This is a good thing,
but, I can't help but mourn the beginning of "no"
simply because
by the time I don't have to say it,
he will have moved out.
He is my last.
But he's still squishy-so all is not lost.
I have to remind myself to enjoy all these phases-not mourn them.
He is such a delight-even with manpoo.
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