Shorts: Gifted by Nana Cait.
Muno: The arcade prize shop at Great Wolf Lodge.
Band Aids: c/o of cousin Cole's pile of belated birthday presents.
Blonde Hair: c/o Daddy.
Lighthearted fashion mock aside, I don't know what's happened to my child the past few months. I know I'm super gushy and love-love-love lately, but seriously. Late one night when you've been married a few months, you have the baby talk with your husband. Then you see two lines on a pregnancy test. Then an eight pound whopper is born three weeks early with rosy skin and loud lungs and light hair and he smells sweet and eats like a champ and is so dreamy that you think you might actually be in one of your pregnant lady dreams instead of reality. And then? Then! The baby gets a little bigger and learns to belly laugh and chuckle and bat his eyelashes and crawl and walk and tear things off shelves and one day? You wake up and there's a tan, blue eyed, short haired boy who has had too many haircuts to count singing to himself in his crib. And that toddler? He says "please" and "thank you" and stands in front of the toilet for as long as possible, tearing off toilet paper and flushing each piece down three times in a row. He wants cookies and grapes and Honey Bunches of Oats and says "Mama!" like he loves you and "Daddy!" when he doesn't want you and, somehow, he's the same baby that was placed in your arms the first day of July two years ago and, instead of jokingly saying, "We'll keep him for the next eighteen years.", you realize that eighteen has changed to sixteen and it feels like it's only been a day.
So I'll say what every mom before me has already said: It goes fast.