Five years, 364 days, and about 21 hours ago my son was born. He was pretty cute at first. To wit:
Then he did a lot of this:
We drank a lot of this:
Matt's ankle had been casted just a couple weeks earlier, because he tripped on a curb swatting at a bee while walking the dog, so he did a lot of this:
Of all the things that have tested our marriage, that cast might be top on the list. His "medical restrictions" with a new baby in the house were... ill timed. It eventually came off, he was eventually able to fetch things for me from upstairs again, and all was right with the world. [kidding... kind of.]
Then 6 years went by in the blink of an eye. Tonight my son was riding around on one of his sister's toys chatting, "I'll be 6 in first grade, then I'll be 7 in second grade, then I'll be 8 in third grade, then I'll be 9 in fourth grade, then I'll be 10.... Oh please, please, please stop talking child. Mommy's not ready. Happy Birthday Baby.