"So Fresh, So Clean"

It's official (and yes, I know I've started more than one entry with this phrase): Today marks the day I finally realized that we no longer have a cute baby living with us. In his place, we now have a smelly, loud, chronically dirty manboy who burps at the table, farts in public (it wasn't me, I SWEAR) and is developing a personality less predictable than where a fourteen-year-old's next pimple is going to pop up.

I suppose we knew it was coming. We have friends — relatives even — with kids older than Connor, and, sure enough, their offspring have gotten older and smellier as time has passed. Why should Connor be any different?

The only time of the day when Connor isn't sweaty and out of breath with remnants of his last meal caked on his shirt and pants is right after bathtime. But, fifteen-or-so minutes later, he's just as dirty as if he'd had no bath at all. I can't figure it out. I guess if I were that close to the ground, I'd get dirty easily too.

Those who know me well can attest to my aversion to dirt, and having a kid with a predilection for getting filthy has been nothing if not an intense exercise in immersion therapy — except with therapy the goal is to get better, and I'm afraid I'm just getting more manic.

But I still love him.

I guess.