I’m pretty sure there is a picture of a monkey on almost everything in the kitchen cupboard.
He’s learned that the word “no” exists. He doesn’t approve.
When he got his head stuck under the couch I realised that as long as he grows up to be happy I don’t care if he’s not a genius.
Watching him crawl around in dinosaur pyjamas with a stuffed monkey in his mouth it’s hard not to think he’s gone feral.
Twenty pounds of “I don’t want to get dressed” is really heavy.
He seemed to always expect the next handful of dirt to taste better.
My refrigerator is covered with magnetic letters. I feel like I’m officially a dad.
He figured they wouldn’t be called styrofoam peanuts if they weren’t edible.
It always cracks me up when he tries to stuff a handful of food into his mouth without taking out the pacifier first.
I think he might be the only person on earth who is adorable with a comb-over.