Offspring

Hanging out with a baby is a lot like watching an infomercial: you start out convinced this thing is not for you, but you keep on watching. You don’t need that, you think. Hell, you already can do all the things it does. Then something happens. Somewhere, somehow, the pitch hooks into you. Suddenly you’re thinking, how have I lived my life without that? The next thing you know you’re in a Snuggie cleaning off a counter with your ShamWow and wondering how much a Chinese baby would run you.

--http://jesuskirkandvinny.com/

So here's a picture my son drew yesterday for me. Oddly enough, he's taking to signing his name as "Laim" as in lame. Perhaps this will be his artistic persona.

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Now I am way not into showing people stuff my kid does because, frankly, it just isn't that interesting. Who wants to see a bunch of scribbles poorly executed on scrap paper? Unless it's my kid's scribbles, I sure don't (so if you ever show me something your kid has done, know that while I'm nodding politely and feigning interest, I am really thinking about the awesome stuff MY kid does--that or wine).

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But when it's your kid, there's something magical about watching his step-by-step transformation from a shapeless lump of boringness to an actual person who spells love phonetically and represents me (consistently in all his pictures, mind you) as a squat, thick girl with crazy hair and a high hairline.

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Watching your child grow really is as if a miracle happens every day. Like when my son told his first joke. I don't remember the actual joke, but I do remember thinking 1) wow this is the stupidest joke ever and 2) holy crap, my kid has a sense of humor!

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So, yes, I hung my son's picture up in my lab for all the world to admire. Because right now, I need reminders that miracles are happening on a daily basis. And that somewhere in San Diego, there is a gorgeous boy who luvs me.