Hey. I want that straw.
THAT ONE. I want it. Can't you people understand me?
Ignore Jacob. No I won't smile. Just bring me that straw.
Fine. I'll get it myself.
Holy Diapers! Finally!
What do you mean be careful I might poke....
OUCH! Grandma! Why did you let me have this instrument of terror? I'm just a baby!
Do me a solid and escort me around the room. (Speaking of solid, I just pooped. But I'll let you continue to think it's just gas for now).
I said "walk" not "hokey-pokey." FOCUS WOMAN!
Don't do it. Don't even think of letting go.
SHE DID IT.
I'll teach her a lesson by throwing a tantrum on the floor.
What?! You can't cut to a picture of my brother right when I'm at the height of my acting skills. Does no one care that I'm having a tantrum? I'm kicking. I'm kicking LOUDER.
Ok, that's enough. This post is about ME.
Please tell me he isn't doing that.
Ugh. I can't look. The only word I want to hear right now is "adopted."
Only one way to stop the humiliation: distraction.
Look! Look people. Over here! I'm doing that thing you guys are always trying to make me do.
What? Now that you mention it, yeah.
My strut IS a little flamboyant.
Hold me now. Ok. One kiss is acceptable. But no double dipping. I don't know how to wipe slobber off my face.
Wait. Don't leave me alone. Haven't you read ANY parenting books?
Two words: separation anxiety.
But you probably skipped that chapter. Just like you skipped the chapter on not drinking while pregnant. Oh, that was a secret? Who's the parent in this relationship, anyway?
NOT what I had in mind. I can't decide if I like this attention. I'll get back to you.
By the way. I kind of pooped. But just a turtlehead. And maybe some poot. (poot: n. when you toot and a little poop comes out.)
Wait. Why are we leaving? Is it something I said?