This kid is just your basic dose of anti-birth control.
He is happy.
He is cute.
He is friendly.
He is sweet.
He doesn't have those stupid looking top teeth yet, the ones that turn babies into hillbillies. I found pictures of Clara at this age and was horrified at her hillbilly teeth.
I dread the day this happens to Sammy.
He puts up with a lot of different business from a lot of little hands and he is eternally patient and long-suffering.
I tell him "no" and he grins. I tell him "no" again, more stern, and he laughs. He's gonna be difficult to discipline, that's pretty clear.
Clara bounces towards the nursery shouting "He's awake! Brudder's awake, mama! No problems, I get him!" His grin beams across the room as she reaches through the crib slats to stroke his cheek and say "Good morning, Sammy. Hi! I miss you! Good morning, bubbies!" He smiles and chatters to her. I smile and try to memorize the way they look at each other.
And even when he's sad, it's pretty damn adorable.
Samuel Iradell Horney V.
You're nine months old and still hanging on to that favorite child slot, buddy. I'm sure you'll be bumped once you start sassing me or fighting with your sister or flushing jewelry down our toilets, but for now? Enjoy the prestige.
And your dad should bow down to the maker of the almighty IUD, because you make me want to get pregnant by like, YESTERDAY.
Love you Sam guy! Love you so so so much!