My kids are freaking cute. They are most likely cuter than your kids. I’m sorry. That’s just the way it is.
Let me back this up with solid evidence. (As if my pictures weren’t enough.) Yesterday, after fighting off a migraine and hobbling around on my defective foot all day long, Mia asks, "Mom, why are you sad?"
And so I say, "Because I just am. I’m hurt. I’m tired."
Says Mia, "I know what can cheer you up." And so she comforts me with a little song. After that, she offers a bit of advice. And I quote:
"You know how come I stay so happy all the time? Because I carry around a little piece of the sun in my heart, with me everywhere, all the time. You have a piece of the sun in your heart, too. You just gotta get it out and put it on your face, like this, see? It turns into a smile! You try it with me, Mommy."
She didn’t get it from me, or her dad, or a book. The cutest kids in the world are automatically programmed to say the cutest things in the world. That’s just the way it is.
Poor Merrick is suffering from what I belive to be The Allergies From Hell. He’s got a scratchy little voice and a wicked bad runny nose. He can barely breathe at night. But every morning, with snot stretched from one ear to the other, he lays in his crib, cooing like nobody’s business. And when he sees me, he grins his biggest grin and rolls over and over like a puppy, thus confirming his World’s Cutest-yet-Snottiest Baby status.
I’ll make some enemies by saying this, but I just don’t get people who don’t want kids. No, scratch that. Those people know not what they say. I don’t get the people who have one kid but don’t want any more. I. Just. Don’t. Understand. If money were no object I’d never stop. I’d reproduce til my insides fell out. Scary, I know. And I don’t think the world could handle that much adorable.