This is the Monster on his first birthday. Ignore my cleavage please, as if that was possible. Focus on the sweet innocence that is red curls, blue eyes, and birthday cake. This was right before he rubbed it in his eyes, commenced with the screaming and I had to nearly drown him in the park water fountain. All the while receiving disapproving looks from The Saint. Just one more reason I'm glad she is my EX-MIL.
And here he is on his fourth birthday. Notice the sweet tats and guns. Yeah I let my 4 year old hang out at tattoo parlors and lift weights in his spare time. The mischievousness of the Monster is glaringly obvious in this shot. Just be glad I didn't add audio or you would be in utter confusion within seconds of the non-stop stream of words that pours out of his mouth...constantly. Kind of like his mother I suppose.
Soon enough he'll be in high school. The tats will be permanent. He'll have a hussy of a girlfriend hanging around my house at all hours. The pipes on his "big black truck" (his request since he could talk) will awaken me to the fact that he missed curfew once again. What will I do? Scream? Cuss? Ground his misbehaving ass? Yeah, probably all of that and some. But every now and then, I'll pull out old photos like these and wonder where my baby went. That's one of the curses of being a mother. You can try all you want to keep them close, but they are destined to pull away. Then just when you get your life back and start getting that middle of the day booty with the hubby, extra money for vacays, a new car that they haven't wrecked, here they come knocking on your door.
"Mom, I'm broke can I stay here a while?"
Awwww, hell no! (oops wrong sentiment)
"Of course darling, stay as long as you want."
How could you react any other way? You just got your baby back.