Letter to Dane, Day 295ish (Part Possible TMI)

Dear Dane,

Hello, angel baby. It’s mommy again.

A few days ago, I wrote you this letter, but I’ve realized (of late) that I left something out. You see, you’re very cute. So cute people stop me on the street and tell me how cute you are (yes, I’m obnoxious. Sorry, it’s sort of genetic.) (Also, I blame my husband.). And since you’ve gotten two front teeth, you’re so cute that I often have to stop myself from staring at you and pinching your cheeks and saying obnoxiousmommy things like smoochywoo little baby and tushytushytushy. And yet. And yet.

Those teeth, you see, they’re cute. They’re cute when you’re smiling or chewing on your finger or biting on a teething ring or a piece of gladware or a pot handle. They’re even cute when you’re laughing and gooing and ahging and trying to take little bites out of my fingers when I’m rocking you at night. But you see, smushy, there is one time when they are not so cute. So please, yummiky bumpkins, sweet fuzzyheaded monkeyman, please, please, please: STOP. BITING. MOMMY. WHEN. YOU. ARE. NURSING. Or I may have to start telling all those people who think you’re so cute about how you once had to have the inside of your diaper gladwrapped so I could take a stool sample, and we both know how THAT would go (crazy looks, upturned sneers, possible calls to CPS).

Mmmmm, paint chips.

That is all, my lovey noggikins. That is all.





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