Here's our little piece o' heaven. He really gets dreamier by the minute. If you want to be a Jude, you must grab everything and shove it into your mouth post-haste. You must squeal, giggle, coo, and rattle your voice around as often as you see fit. You must have a cowlick smack dab in the front and center of your hairline and another one in the back of your head. You must be kissed an average of seventeen thousand, two hundred and twenty three times a day by your mother alone. You must be tickled and squeezed by your dad ad nauseum et infinitum. Your salivary glands must work overtime, providing sufficient resources to soak through anything caught a moment under your chin. You must become giggly and silly when overtired. To be a Jude, I like to think, is a pretty good gig.
Really, I love being his mom.