Ryan and West last year riding bikes. I can't get enough of that helmet.
Westy is a Ryan's son. No doubt about it. I'm not sure a son could idolize a dad more. If Ryan's around, I'm chopped liver. Really. Anytime anyone goes in or out of the house from the garage, Westy will yell across the house "daddy!?!" Certainly his father's son.
He has a little stomach bug and all with it, all the nasty side effects. In the middle of the night, he was really not doing well. I bathed him, put him in clean jammies and tucked him in bed with me. He was sleeping on my chest and I was rubbing his back and his head. Mind you, I'm exhausted, started two loads of nasty laundry, been puked on all night and just waiting for it to start back up again when he pokes his little head up and whispers "tank you mom."
Oh, be still my heart.
1 comment:
Oh my gosh! Precious! I love that little guy. Love the sweetness of sick babies, even if all of the grossness of the illness are hard to bear. Sweet little love. And I'm grinning right now, hearing him in my mind saying, "DA-eeeeee!"
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