Dear Hagen,
Now that Ella doesn't have Gus to boss around all day, she has turned her laser-like focus on you. The dog - who was previously petrified of our slippery steps - now follows me upstairs to supervise your bedtime. She's like that St Bernard in Peter Pan. And you seem to love the attention.
Much bigger people than you would be scared to see this coming at 'em, but it doesn't phase you a bit:
I wish I could say that yesterday, you battled your way through a screen door just to crawl out on the deck and get to me. But that honor is reserved for Ella, who was sitting right next to me as I took these pictures to be sure I was doing it right.
That's right - you're not smiling at your mama like this. You're smiling at the dog.
What truly frustrates us is that you're the most easygoing baby with one exception: You HATE having your face wiped. Hate it. I come at you with a napkin and you scream and kick and try to punch me in the glasses. It's ugly.
And then this happens, and you giggle like a fool:
And your dad yells, "HOW IS THAT OKAY?!?"
No, seriously.
Love,
Mom
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