I'm not complaining. I love being home like I have never loved anything else. But, right now, it's a bit like Groundhog's Day. I've told Sammy repeatedly to not drive angry and we sing "I've got you babe" each morning. If you don't get these jokes/references then do yourself a favor and have a Bill Murray Saturday this weekend. Watch Groundhog's Day, and follow it up with Caddy Shack and What About Bob. Consider it an education.
Anywhoo, so today during playmat time I say "Hey Sam, wanna have a mini photo sesh (so mommy can play photoshop while you nap)?" which is more fun than vacuuming for the umpteenth time.
"You know what I mean. I take pictures, you look cute, and together we make the Internet a better place while making fewer friends because people will be jealous of my super adorable baby?"
"You wanna take a pic of me looking angelic?"
I told him I wasn't so sure if this was super angelic or more like baby "come at me bro!". Look at the hands. They tell a much different story than the face.
So I told him that maybe just a more normal, eyes on the camera, smizing - something that says "Wow Susie, how did you capture that moment?"
Or he shows me the face he's planning on giving CPS to report his terrible mother who makes him do tummy time so he can hold up his melon head (99th percentile) and make sure said melon head isn't flat on the back.
Since tummy time had been going on a resonable amount of time, I flipped him over so he could kick and squeal and was immediately informed that he is allergic to his play mat.
Two sneezes and several fake coughs later and I told him he better get his acting job figured out because there is no way those moves are getting him out of any middle school days, no matter how bad those three years are.
Then the smiles started because he knew I was right. Only a mom for 10 weeks and I'm already right all the time.
I got the tongue out "I'm my mother's son" version and the "check out them dimples" version. Too hard to decide which one so you get both and you are welcome.
I'd had about enough of on his back photos by this time so I sat him up in the Boppy, which apparently is a smile killer.
We call this "Winston Churchill" baby. You either get it or you don't. I refuse to pander.
I told Sam that fitting a fist in your mouth is my party trick and no he cannot use it, but that I recognize what he's telling me with the fist in the mouth and well, "mooooooooo".
And that is where photo session Wednesday ends.
Oh and ps: yes, he did that to his face and yes, we are considering having him declawed. I could have photoshopped it out but why?