My Little Shakespearean

A couple weeks ago, Gabe got mad at me.

I can't remember what injustice I doled out.  I'm pretty certain it involved my my lack of approval surrounding play dough and my carpet.  Whatever it was he wanted to do, I said no and he wasn't pleased.

Normally he'll stick that sweet, chubby lip out and work up some crocodile tears in hopes of winning over my soft spot for him.  But this time, he went a different route.

"I spit at you."  Said in a slow, victorian voice followed closely by a dry spit sound effect.

I know I shouldn't have, but I laughed.  

Hard.

I couldn't help it.  I hardly ever can with him.  Even when he's naughty and sassy and telling my adorable aunt to "shut your mouth," I can't resist him.

(to clarify: my adorable aunt was also laughing and Gabe wasn't trying to be rude)

Do all Moms have this huge blind spot when it comes to their sons?

You know, I never wanted a son.  I had visions of a house full of sisters.  Manicures, sleepovers, shopping filled weekends.

And then came this little boy and I actually feel him filling my heart more and more everyday.  The way his weight feels in my arms, his fingernails that constantly have dirt under them, his sticky cheeks.  He's just edible.

I love this little dude.

And promise to work on his manners.