Everything I do now is so that one day, he can do it on his own.
Others may cut your down, but that doesn’t mean you can’t put yourself back together and grow. I did.
We have a lot less of these interactions as time goes on, but they still happen.
I’m not letting him sludge his way through life. My boy looks good. I make sure of it.
The purée literally jumped four feet in the air and came splashing down on his head.
The best way I can describe days like this is that my hair hurts.
Frustrated and pleading, “Come on. You like Jeff Wiggle. Right? It’s a Jeff doll. Yay?” Nada.
One tiny giggle kept these three alive for over a decade and counting.
All I want to do is spoil him, but I have to do what’s best for him.
It’s the parental curse of eternal-youth vision