This child- this bright eyed ginger child- may be the death of me one of these days. The walking, the reaching new things, the rotten "I have something I shouldn't!" scrunched up shoulder run. He may just be the death of me. Even with all this new found mobility, though, he's still a mama's boy. Several times a day, he comes to check in with me. He toddles over and tries to climb up me, no matter where I am. I scoop him up an he presses his face into my neck, and his soft squishy body into my arms, and I can almost hear him say "just a verse and a chorus, please." So I sing to him, and then he's ready to tear up the world for another hour or two. Then he comes to check in again, and we sing and snuggle for another verse and chorus more. Someday, I know I'll be chasing him asking "oh Rotten, just a verse and a chorus, please?" so I try to soak it all in while I can.