Oh, Mr. Moose. My moose-ee-goose. My moosers.
Your feet stink. You give weird, quiet kisses with your eyes wide open. You mimic sounds and trill like a tiny wookie child.
You crawl on your hands and knees and push up to sit and pivot–always in a hurry and diving for something else.
You love standing and you’re starting to cruise with cautious, shuffling steps. Stop that! I’m not ready for your feet to take you anywhere, baby.
You chase your brother and you love balloons.
You love to eat. You want to eat everything. You love all kinds of flavors.
When you smile, you flail with joy.
You found your hands and you examine them, pivoting your chubby wrist with wonder.
I love you, baby boy.
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