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Bo Baby, you're a sweetheart.
You remind me everyday why mothers of newborn babies often cut their hair.
You've got a powerful grip my dear.
And when it's not being ripped out at the roots,
the tips of my hair are crusted into points,
hardened with dried baby saliva.
And come on Bo....
poop...in the zipper of the recliner cushion?
How?
But now we know another reason why newborns need daddies.
But the good news is, your dimples are showing.
TWO of them!
I call you "my mushy ball of goodness."
But I usually say it with exclamation, through gritted teeth.
Does this make sense to anyone?
You're also "milky, creamy, goodness."
Yeah ya are.
I call you my "fat, fat, baby." But you're not really a fat baby.
There's something lean about you.
I can see it even through those hamhock thighs.
You seem shy. You smile at Daddy and then turn away.
Then you do it again and again.
You've found your feet.
Your little hands, with your little divet-ed knuckles, reach out, seeking anything, everything to hold.
Usually I can talk you out of crying by making you laugh.
You laugh a lot.
Sometimes you even laugh deep, from the belly.
Those are go-get-the-video-camera kind of laughs.
I love to rub my cheeks through your peach fuzz hair.
Back and forth, back and forth.
You've been rubbing your little eyes with your little fists lately.
I wish I could bottle that up.
When I kiss you in the morning, you lean into it.
You are so sweet in the morning.
You were made for me Bo Bo, and I have no idea why.
I don't deserve you.
God's grace is good.
What pretty little facial features. Has she got dimples?
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