This weekend, we packed up our car and two hours (and one ticket!) later, we pulled up to my Grandma's house. I used to spend a week there every summer when I was little, but I hadn't been there since I was seventeen. We were there so I could take my cousin's senior pictures, but it was really fun to see Andrew and Max see the house for the first time.
Anyway, we didn't go to bed until pretty late on Friday and, Saturday morning, Max woke up as soon as the sun started rising (read: like 5:45). We were in the same room (fine, same bed, even though he'd started the night on a mattress on the floor), and when he woke up, it took every ounce of my Mama strength to not bury my head underneath the pillow, cover my ears, and scream loudly. But! After he wouldn't stop talking or laughing or crawling over us no matter how many times we tried to lull him back to sleep, we decided to be parents instead of the sulky twenty-somethings we wanted to be and played with him in the bed until the sun was fully risen:
Needless to say, a day that starts out with baby squeals and animal noises before 6:30 is a day of baby bliss. Max had such a good time staring at cows and swinging on the porch swing and flirting and eating pancakes and going on long walks and walking through the trees. He is so curious and we love him and laugh so hard when he convinces everyone around him to love him, too.
See? My baby is a heartbreaker.