A tragic thing happened.
See this precious angel baby of a face?
My first born son. The little person that made me a mother.
And now he's growing up.
Know how I know?
It has nothing to do with his ski size feet. Or his giraffe legs. Or that he alone is responsible for depleting our fish stick stash of 200 in less 5 days.
It is because HE STANK.
Like more than wet puppy dog stank. Like full-blown nasty man stank. Like the gym shoes were left in the wet basement and then sucked on by a dog nasty man stank.
And now my angel baby is wearing this.
And know what else?
He hates it. He gives me dirty looks every morning when I march him to the bathroom and watch him put it on. Because if I don't watch...he won't swipe the ole' pit.
Just like a man....perfectly fine with the stank.
This cannot be happening to me.
(Dear Sister of Mine, Don't even think about bringing up my own puberty stories. Because I know some on you, and I'll tell. This is about me and my baby, so don't go there. Just don't. Thanks in advance for keeping your trap shut. Love ya, Amb)