He's always going to be called Baby. No matter what. He's my little snuggle-wuggle-monkey-skunkey-squishy-bottomed baby boy.He's four. And that's still a tiny baby. Right? Yes. Don't be judging me because I can't let go of my little tiny boy (who's a head taller than all his friends and could tackle a first grader if he wanted to). And don't be judging my cake making abilities either! Oh, wait....Clay baked the cake, from a box. Like you all don't love him enough already because he tries to put away laundry! Please, people you're killin' me here the man can barley get his head through the door and he's struttin' around like a rooster on steroids! All because YOU READERS THINK HE'S CUTE AND WONDERFUL FOR NOT PUTTING THE LAUNDRY AWAY CORRECTLY!!!!
Anyway, my baby is now four. And I don't like it one bit. These darn kids grow up to stinkin' fast. This last one is such a Momma's boy that I'll do just about anything for him. And he knows it. When he wakes up in the morning the first thing he wants to do is crawl up in bed with me and say, "I sweep wif you Mom. Coot over Mom, I sweep wif you. You snuggle me Mom." And of course I never say no, because who wouldn't want a little toasty, squishy-bottomed monkey to snuggle with every morning?
It took him nearly four years to tell me he was 'free years old'. But instantly, when he turned four, he knew, "I'm FOUR!!"