Last night he spent 15 minutes laughing while he farted in the bath. He says, “Hot, Mama!” and pats my butt. Speaking of butts, he fell down today and asked me to kiss his butt all better. He thinks poops are funny and stinky and likes to tell you as much.

Sometimes I think I birthed Bart Simpson, and he’s only 18 months old. I can’t imagine the boogers, toilet humor and general boy-ickiness in our future.

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He shrieks with joy when he hears my footsteps coming up the stairs when I’ve been out. “MAMA!!!!”, I hear before even getting inside from the garage. And there he waits at the top of the stairs, a giant smile threatening to burst off his chubby cheeks.

He gives so many hugs and so many kisses. He climbs into my lap for an impromptu snuggle before another game of trucks or blocks. When he gets tired he tells me, “Night, night, Mama”, and curls up on the couch with me before bed.

Sometimes I think I birthed a perfect little angel baby, and he’s only 18 months old. I can’t imagine all the love, joy and fun times we have in our future.

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