Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Weaned

Callum feels big.














Bro smoothie 'stache.


















We're trying to take him seriously, but it's hard.

Classic blankie photobomb.





















(Little boys wearing bubblegum pink glitter toe nail polish is in right now, so I'm pretty sure pearls are, too.)

Pedicure not pictured, but believe me it's there.




















Proprioceptive and vestibular input junkie.





















Callum has big boy feelings, strong ones.

Sit-in protesting leaving the pool.




He's been obsessed with lightsabers for months now, and feels perfectly comfortable in the middle of a 4th grade battle.

Turns out weapons are allowed in the post office, if they know you.
















And while he's not super talkative about anything other than "FOOD!" he's got the sound effects down.

Callum is a runner, and he likes to just take off without letting us know, especially at Target.  He can find the fastest route to the toy department from any starting point.

Wandering the desert with half a pool noodle, following the force.
















While I think it is a nursing strike, as of tonight I declare you weaned.  Going cold turkey from three times a day to zero is hard on your old mother's body.

Twenty three months is a good run.





















I'm still going to call you my baby.

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