|Uh... lady, do I know you?|
And then came mother's day, and this awesome urn from Pottery Barn (for her, not me, although I would have left behind a good deal of my wardrobe to stick THAT nugget in my checked luggage):
|Mommy, WHO IS THIS LADY AND WHY IS SHE STICKING ME IN AN OLIVE JAR?|
What? Nobody said we were NORMAL, y'all. Also, this is where Dane's alarm at being stuck in random containers peaks. I TOLD you he was mellow. He definitely does not get that from me. Also, also, sorry for the blurriness, but like I said, this was the peak of his alarm, so we didn't get the normal five-to-ten to take good pics; my phone had to do.
So then I get home and what was once a random every-once-in-a-while thing has now become a full-fledged capsy THING:
|Uh, Gig'em, Mommy.|
I confess, I was really just making myself feel better by determining if he was still small and smushy enough to fit in a diaper box.
At least when I decided to stick him in this one, he'd already crawled halfway into the bag (apparently for a snack.).
And it doesn't stop there:
|This. Is. Crazy. Mommy.|
Y'all. HE FITS IN MY LAUNDRY BASKET. So there ARE benefits to having the 15th percentile baby. Also, thank you, Gymboree, for tricking me into buying a redneck muscle shirt by putting a crab on it daring me to pinch my baby's cuteness.
|Yo, Brookie. Here I come. Also, nice duck tape.|
And one more thing:
|Mommy. I AM NOT A BUILD-A-BEAR.|
Um, yeah. YUMMY.