dadding depressed

I remember my son noticing his fingers for the first time. It was fantastic. Lying with his back on the living room carpet, his nubby fingers twirled in front of his eyes like a VeggieTales baby carrot dance number. He used those hands to discover his swollen feet and folded his body to feed minion toes to a monstrous mouth (something he had discovered much earlier). Sitting like Buddha in the bathtub one day, he leaned forward to catch a glimpse of his man junk. He couldn’t see the shriveled wet willy past his mountain of a belly, and he kept rolling forward with every attempt. Still, at twelve months, he hasn’t figured it all out. As he hunts down every inch of his tubby self, there is at least one feature he has not yet found. His forehead. It hunkers down in hiding above his eyes.

The poor kid…

View original post 410 more words

Advertisements