So Jack is really growing up. Kids do that. One minute you're wetting yourself and calling Grammy when he gurgles something that sounds like it might be english, and the next minute you're shoving crackers in his face so he'll take a break from recounting the entire plot of Ice Age 3. There are also the benefits of fine motor skills: instead of wrestling him into his pajamas, I can hand him his pajamas and then holler at him periodically while he takes thirty minutes to put them on.
The biggest bonus is that he's starting to notice when he gets dirty. This bodes well for him shedding the title of The World's Filthiest Little Boy. The other day at breakfast, he looked down at his lap while a bemused smile played across his lips.
"Hmmm...did I get eggs in my underwear?"
As they say in AA, admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery.
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