Oh, Portmaster. The little babe who gave me the title of "mother."
You started hitting this week. I don't even know if you get that you are hitting. I can't tell. But you hit everything. Mom. Dad. Other babies. Food. Walls. Toys.
I am going insane.
And how the heck do you discipline a 10 month old? It is impossible. So I just grab your hand and say "no." Sometimes I grab your cheeks and make you look at me and say, "no."
But nothing phases you.
It's like your saying, "whatever, Mom." ggaaaaaaahhhh
And then when I sing to you, you rest your head on my chest and snuggle with me every single time.
You love my voice. And I really do melt at that instant. And I don't even care that you head-butted me with your helmet. Or that you slapped me in the face 20x times that day.
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