The Baby turned 5-months-old on Friday. Days earlier, he was happily perched on my knee watching The Kid dance around the living room. He was balancing there easily, almost on his own. He'll have this whole sitting up thing perfected before too much longer. And then, before you know it, he'll be walking and talking and sneaking whiskey from the liquor cabinet.
I begged him to stop growing so quickly. "Take your time," I encouraged. "Stop getting bigger, " I pleaded. "Look at these cute feet," I gushed. "Look at your sweet face," I cooed. "Stay just like this forever!" I demanded.
But The Baby was skeptical. "Just like this?" he babbled. And then, as if to prove his point, he belched a waterfall of curdled milk down my leg and into my shoe.
Fine. Maybe outgrowing a few baby-related tendencies wouldn't be such a bad thing. Smart ass.