Today I left Luke alone to play while I swept and mopped floors. When I came back later to move the bathroom stuff from the hall back into the bathroom, I noticed our spring scale read "180" with nothing on it. While I secretly hoped for it to be a really good reason for the scale's recent readings with me on it, I suspected that was not the case. I tried to adjust it back, but it didn't seem immediately fixable, so I went to find Luke to investigate. I asked him if he touched the scale, and what he did to it. "I had to get it to say 3," he coolly explained. "WHAAAT?" I coolly shrieked in reply, realizing he must have meant 3 HUNDRED, and that yes, our scale was most definitely not fixable. A little exasperated himself, he shared his full thought: "I had to get it to say 3, so I remember that I'm 3!"
I'm including some baby pictures that I hope will encourage Elizabeth to continue her newborn adoration for as long as possible. Even in a few weeks when the babymoon's over, take a look at these and remember Paul is still tiny and sweet, and lacks any tendency to engage in random displays of unhappy spitting while being fed.
In the first picture, note the tears in the eyes, poised and ready for launching in case any additional spoonfuls of cereal might make their way near his mouth. In the second picture, note the calm hand that belies (though not completely!) the defiance within. (The defiance makes it way out through the eyebrows and feet, and the steely gaze that says, "Oh, were you noticing the 1/2 cup of cereal I spat on my just-cleaned overalls? That's the least of my power.")
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