My son is in danger of starving. He's going to waste away to nothing but a set of big blue-to-hazel eyes and wild light blond hair. Yesterday, at childcare, he only drank two ounces of milk. Today, he cut that to an ounce and a half. He spent the days showing off, crawling around the room by putting down his right hand, then left, then pushing off his left foot. Hand, hand, foot, repeat, until he'd criss-crossed the soft mat and the not so soft carpet. I think he's trying to dig a groove in the shape of a 747 around the exersaucers and bouncy seats. He has no time for nourishment - he's got important tricks to practice, a substitute teacher to seduce with his big grin and drool, and a roomfull of babies to impress. Soon he'll lose a few of the slow-to-come pounds he's put on. If it keeps up, he won't just crawl out of his pants, as he often does now; they'll fall off him the minute I pull them up.
Perhaps I'm overreacting.
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