My baby loves me.

This is monumental to me because my other babies didn’t. They NEEDED me, but that was about it. Dad was their go-to guy for giggles, smiles, and funzy time. I was just a tool, an object, a means to an end.
I’m not bitter.

But THIS baby loves the snot out of me. She reaches for me, smiles at me, giggles at me, wants me to hold her, and I feel like I can die happy now. Not that my sole goal is to be loved by others… *ahem* anyway!
Here’s a picture of us loving each other on my living room floor while watching “Hercules”:

Here’s a picture of us loving each other closer up:

Here’s a picture of Me with The One I Trained to Love Me:

I can’t leave my husband out for obvious reasons (if they’re not obvious to you, call your mom posthaste and ask her how babies are made. If she brings up the stork, cry foul):

My son was also present last night, but he was picking his nose and not fit for photographing.
Me in my PJs with my hair not done and my make up melted off IS okay, but I draw the line at nose picking. I’m a lady, after all.

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