My mom emailed me this picture tonight. I don't know why it strikes me as shocking that it's Heath. I keep obsessively staring at it. He was, I think, 11 months old. He was walking, but not steadily. There was no Stella. Not even pregnant with Stella at that point. I think it stuns me how much a child grows in such a short amount of time. Three years pass by, and next thing you know...
...you've got this guy, who clearly needs more candy.
Being Spider-Man for 48 hours isn't for the faint of heart. As a matter of fact, it left poor Heath feeling a little puny. He woke up early this morning, complaining about being too tired, and coughing, and not wanting to go to school. I thought staying home to rest would be helpful.
And it would be. If he would rest. Instead, he was just under the weather enough to be irritable and agitated and cranky, but well enough to do everything he could do to drive Stella zany. (Before anyone says, Poor Stella, let's remember she is becoming the master of her own Heath Goat Getting Skills. And get his goat, she does.) Most of my day was spent keeping them off of each other. And repeating, Please stop that. Please don't rip that. Please get off your sister's neck. Please stop tapping your foot on Heath. Please give that back to (insert child's name here). No, you can't have anymore candy.
Just when I was thinking we would boycott Halloween next year, Heath informed me he already knows what he wants to be. Little Red Riding Hood.
I wouldn't mind seeing that.
No comments:
Post a Comment