The first three months or so were hard. So, so hard. And I know people out there who have dealt with ten thousand times more crap from their little people but really, when you are wrapped up in it and the cloud of screams and never ending shitty diapers and OMGTHOSEDIRTYBOTTLES are slowly taking your sanity and throwing it into oncoming traffic well, your little monster is the biggest little monster of them all. And Sam was just that. Refusing to burp, unleashing the gates of hell if you set him down just for one short second, breaking out worse than a 15 year old with an IV of Dortios and Mountain Dew in his arm, those groady clogged tear ducts, the crying (oh my word, the crying) and all of those other things that I have already filed into the "Let's not do this again, mmmkay?" folder in the back of my brain. He might not have been the worst (a title still held by his older brother) but, let's be honest here, he kind of sucked in the beginning. Like a lot.
But we've come out on top. Don't remind me he's only been alive for five months, I'd like to think that this is how it's going to be always. Sleeping through the night, forever smiling, producing the most beautiful gut-busting giggles in the whole wide world, eyes the size of saucers, rubberband legs for days, "talking" like it's his job...oh, I love him. I love him I love him I LOVE him.