Told him that the blonde imp hair, devilish smile, and sea-blue eyes were too much.
He knows when I am serious. He can give 'serious face' back like nobody's business.
(He woke just now, as I typed this, to get a late night snuggle and dance with me cheek-to-cheek for a bit. I should be wishing for an end to middle-of-the-night slow dances [almost 17 months in] but I just don't. Sorry I am that mom.)
But then. What is this? A baby belly? Fat and ripe and delicious, ready to be nibbled and let loose a peal of laughter?
That picture, there? Above?He's daring you to say no to that belly. He's pretty sure he's got you beat on this one.
I cave. I nibble. I soak up the laughter and I put it in a pocket, wrapped in tissue paper and soft dreams. I savor and then save it.
I warned him that's how it would go. He gets me every time.