Three years later, he’s my Babylove more than ever.
Sometimes I want to eat his brain, pop his eyeballs out, roar obedience out of him.
But then he smiles and makes his little cute “Come on, mom. You know I’m better than you are at emotional blackmailing” face, and I melt down.
Three year old little asshole.
Nature is amazing, it fills us with hormones and stuff. Then mothers, instead of turning into serial killers, brag about their offspring as the eighth wonder of the world.
And after all, aren’t they?