As a baby, you’d curl up on my chest. Or your father’s. There was nowhere you wanted to be more. You hated that infant carrier. You loved the front carrier and the backpack. You wanted to be touching us.
You were a very long and skinny baby but still so warm.
You crawled up on my lap and the laps of your grandparents. And even when I fell down the stairs holding you which resulted in your foot fracture, you blamed it on the stairs and insisted on being carried up and down.
You had the worst possible case of … Read more...