sometimes pictures tell a story…
I remember the curtains were white with green leaves. Big green leaves.
He was trying to climb up on the ottoman where I was sitting. There wasn’t really a lot of room and I didn’t want to share with him, so I totally smacked at his fingers. (he also pestered the hell out of me. Somewhere around this same time, there is a picture of him standing in his crib, bottle in one hand and my hair in his other.)
There isn’t anything in the floor in the second one. The picture itself is damaged.
Mom TOTALLY stole his make-believe cry-fest.
He knew Mom stole his cry-fest.