Hey Row,
I’m writing this in the middle of the night because you, your brother, and myself, are all sick. You keep waking up and are currently passed out on top of me. I’m praying I don’t need to cough for the next 6-7 hours. Who are we kidding, you’ll be up just after 5.
Well kid, I think you need to hit a few more milestones cause I just don’t thinking standing up the SAME DAY you officially crawl is enough progress. I’m telling everyone you’ll be walking by Christmas, your pediatrician says thanksgiving (please don’t).
You’re making me realize how easy we had it with your brother—never had to lock cabinets, block stairs, worry about him eating random stuff, all that jazz. Thanks to you, my house will be so clean because you find every bit of trash or bit of food that Stabbington the Roomba misses. On that note, please stop turning him on.
Love,
Mom
