A little over 2 years ago, you came up with this great idea of becoming a parent (orrrrr maybe you didn't and a tiny human thing just kind of wound up in your possession) for the first time or again (if you've already done it once, you're obviously insane). Good job. You made a human or at least procured one somehow. Your secret is safe with me. Sure, babies are cute and cuddly when they aren't vomiting breast milk down your back or christening your sister-in-law's new couch with projectile poo in a complementing shade of green.
There's tons of great things about babies. I'm just giving you some of the highlights and it only gets better from there! (Disclaimer: I've seen grown men try to redecorate with poo. It's much more acceptable when it's a baby.)
I want to introduce you to someone. See the guy with the white hair with his arms around the scraggly looking redhead? His name is Hamby and that's the first time I ever met him. He's my Grandpa, and he wanted me to name my son after him.
This.
This is the reason I second guess my sanity every day. Every. Single. Day. He's 3 years old.
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