Today, Caleb fed me the last strawberry from his tray. Not before he sneezed on it, twice. Then he was angry with me for eating his last strawberry. He stacked two blocks, and then carefully put them away and closed the drawer.
He rocks his 80's hair to 90's alternative music, and takes every opportunity possible to beat my laptop into submission. He climbs like a monkey and sings like a small pink elephant.
Last year, at this time, he was doing whatever mysterious thing it is that babies do to terminate their uterine tenancy.
Happy birthday, little(r) man.