Remember this little guy? I know, I know. That was me 5 whole months ago. I know, you’re like, big deal, 5 months. That’s 1/3 of my life, bro. Do the math.
It’s like I didn’t even know what cake was, or that you’re supposed to loudly yell nonsense syllables like “BLAG!” until someone realizes that BLAG! means “Give me cake now!” and brings you a cake immediately, if not sooner.
I was so naive, I didn’t even know that you didn’t have to sit still. Not even for a second! You don’t work for Mama; she works for you.
Then again, I was also pretty carefree. I didn’t care whose foot got covered in frosting (mine). Or whose chair (also mine). Or who had to clean it up. (Um, not me.)
It was a simpler time. Look at 11-month old me. A prince.
This is Mama trying to shame me. Jokes on you, Mama, because look at those pictures of Bert behind us. That’s right, 12 framed photos of Bert, one for each month old. “Pardon me, ma’am, do you have one or two children?” ANSWER THE QUESTION, MA’AM! WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF, MAMA?! I MEAN MA’AM!