I'm pretty sure it was the day before last Tuesday where I thought to myself, "Man, I'm tired. I'm just going to take some time off from writing the blog."
Baby boy was three months old.
Three frickin' months old! And now he has chest hair and is fretting about taxes.
Okay, so maybe time hasn't flown that much, but somehow--between the day before last Tuesday and today--7 months passed.
Slagathor (who now also goes by Lo' Dog as a result of a 4-year-old's totally awesome aural misunderstanding of one of his many other nicknames) is now 10-months old. He has 8 teeth, with which he deftly decimates Cheerios, fingers and--much to my total dismay--the occasional nipple. Now that smarts.
He's a crawling, cat-chasing machine that chants, "Mamamamama." Though, to be fair, he usually chants it while staring at the cat. But at least it's looking like his first word won't be the f-bomb, and we're pretty proud of that (plus it still gives me time to clean up my language, and ain't that a fucking relief).
He's also quite recently, suddenly and with no explanation, started sleeping through the night. Which means I now wake up with more energy than Richard Simmons in a tiny-short store.
There is quite likely a direct relationship between this whole sleep thing and return to the blog thing.
So, if he starts waking up again, y'all are totally fu...err...fricked.
At the Halloween party, there were twelve Cookie Monsters. And one Elvis.
Peek-a-boo: Take 3,204,622