The Boy

I think I was spoiled with my first baby. She was mischevious, but nothing I couldn't easily take care of. Now Boy Terror, he's a completely different story. If there is a way to get into trouble, that child will find it. He moves baby gates. He strips shelves. He rips handfuls of hair off the cat. If it's on the floor, he eats it. If I leave the bathroom door open for a nano-second, he goes in and grabs magazines from the rack, and tears them to shreds which he stuffs into his mouth. He roars like a dragon, but his sister taught him that. The other day, he wanted her attention while she was sitting at the table. So he crawled under, stood up next to her chair, and bit her on the foot. He got attention, all right. I have to admit, though, that as terrifying as he might be, he is still the cutest little boy in the world. When the music is on, and he is standing next to the couch waggling his butt, I could just eat him right up. He'd probably give me indigestion.


Boy Terror after launching himself down the stairs. Twice.