Dada Baby

Hi.

I'm still alive, but have a severe case of blog writing aversion.  I have been busy enjoying life and my loves - little and big.  I sit in front of a computer all day, so the last thing I want to do when I get home from work is power up my Mac and think of ways to regale you with my wit and dramatics.

(You're welcome).

Not much has been going on around these parts.  Ryan turned 30 this past weekend and because I'm such a loving wife, I continually remind him that he is now in his 30's and I'm... still in my 20's.  Camden continues to be the light in our lives and I truly, truly cherish and love that little bugger more every day.  (Even last night when he was naked, arching his back, and trashing as I tried to coax/drag him away from the pacifier he knew was hiding in his crib under a blanket).

Just prior to the naked thrashing session, I was giving him a bath.  I don't remember exactly what I said to Camden, but it was something about him being my baby.  Ryan piped up from the living room and said, "I thought I was your baby?!"  It sparked a conversation that went a little something like this:

Me: You are my big baby.

Ryan: Yes, I'm a big baby.

Me: Don't I know it.

Camden: Dada baby

Certain that I had just imagined those two clear-as-day words coming from those sweet lips - I poked my head out of the bathroom and practically yelled to Ryan, "Did you hear that?!"  We laughed (and laughed, and laughed).  Cam started splashing and laughing too because somehow he knows that he's adorable and funny.  Of course, I kept saying, "dada baby" to try and encourage him to say it again - but 10 unanswered attempts only proved that I can indeed put together two word sentences.

I hope to get back into a somewhat normal routine of posting.  I feel like I have so much and so little to write about - all at the same time.    

Take Luck,
LP