At one year old, August is the cat’s pajamas. He is silly and funny and just wants to play all the games at all of the times.
He must not know that at 25, knees and wrists don’t agree with crawling on hardwood floor from sun up to sun down.
But then again, at the end of every day as I rock his little exhausted body to sleep, I remember that laugh he gave me when we were playing peekaboo, or I hear his puppy dog pant as I chase him on all fours throughout the house, or I smell that baby smell that God has given to me and let me keep hopefully for forever? And that is when I decide that my legs can stay bruised and my wrists can make as many creaking noises as they’d like because fear not, sweet August, tomorrow we will play hard again.
And in the saving the best for last fashion: here’s a video of my pretty little baby taking some of his very first steps. We are all over the moon about it.
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