Manliness, Thy Name is Magoo
You empty everything... faster than I can refill it.
Today you snapped the wooden handle off a basket that Laylee has played with peacefully for 3 years.
You put everything in your mouth at all times.
You flail and splash like a water-churning-psycho-bot in the bath tub, never caring that your face is so covered in liquid that you can barely breathe.
You want the blinds to go DOWN in a blaze of glory.
You see it as your mission in life to have your hands sucked up in the whirly part of the vacuum cleaner and live to tell the tale...hopefully live. From what I have observed, you do not fear death.
You knock over chairs, big ones.
You eat twice as much food as Laylee, who is 2 years older than you.
You get injured frequently and while I'm distracted attending to your wounds, you move quickly on to the next venture of destruction.
You dismantled the door stopper the first time you came in contact with it…in 10 seconds flat and started sucking on the little white choking hazard tip at the end.
Breastfeeding involves sucking for 10 seconds, unlatching, laughing hysterically and attacking me for 60 seconds. You want to WRASTLE!
You also want to ingest my laptop and seem willing to use any means necessary to achieve that end.
But you know what? You've started crawling around the house at lightning speed, looking for me, and chanting "Ma ma ma ma ma ma ma MUMMMMM!"
I like you. You are a boy. I'm a bit scared. But I still like you.