Beware of Bed Head

When you go to bed at night,

Please beware of the fright

that may greet you in the morning light.

Its not the boogie with eyes of red,

Its not the monster under the bed,

Its right there: on top of your head!

Beware of BEDHEAD!!!

Whether your hair is blonde or brown or black

Or Curly or straight, it don't mean jack

When the monster comes to attack!!!

He'll take any hair and make it dance

pointing up to the sky and over to France

If you're a child, you haven't a chance!!

Beware of BEDHEAD!!

Utterly Smitten

I'm addicted.
Addict. Latin: addictus, past participle of addicere to favor. To devote or surrender to something habitually or obsessively.
Yes, I'm addicted. To his smell, his little smile, his adorable voice, and his soft skin. I breathe him in when he comes near, trying hard not to forget when he walks away. Its a combination of milk and honey with a touch of baby. I hold his hand whenever he lets me and ask for more kisses than he will give. I memorize his face, his voice, his walk, because I know it will change in a week.
Then, when he goes to bed, I miss him. Brandon thinks I'm crazy. I didn't miss him like this when I worked. Why? Absence is supposed to make us fonder. But could it be that the more I have of him, the more I want?
He amazes me:
He repeats everything I say.
He strings words into sentences.
He remembers names.
He knows his colors.
He loves books.
He loves his daddy.
He plays and explores.
He follows me around.
He holds my hand.
He gives me kisses..."love you".
He wants me to pick him up..."up. pleeeease."
How can I resist?
So my addiction remains.