What happened to my sweet little baby? One evening last week, I came home from work and picked Ira up. I put him on my hip and asked him to tell me about his day.
His response: "Poop, poop, fart, fart, poop, poop, fart, fart, poop, poop, fart, fart."
Okay, back down you go. He's going to grow out of this phase eventually, right? Until then I'll just have to savor the early mornings, when Ira is the cuddliest, clingiest monkey. Skinny little arms and legs wrapped all around me. I wrap my housecoat around us both, remembering when he was still so small and we didn't go anywhere without him strapped to my body in some kind of baby holder as if we were still one person.
