on having a boy.

Most mornings, my day begins with Nate bringing coffee to me before he heads downstairs to work. Without fail, 20 minutes later I am greeted by another sweet little voice. A shout heard across the house:

"Mom, wipe me off, please!"

And I come. This morning I didn't feel like doing that particular job. He looks up at me and says, "Why does your face look grumpy? How are you?"

He is three. Still needs help getting his jammies with feet back on, yet he notices when his mama is weary.

Here we are, looking fierce. His latest facial injury is still fresh. Yesterday at the park he did a face plant off of his skateboard. He ran to me, cried and got right back on.