On your first trip to the pediatrician, you crapped on me. I had just set you down, naked, on the examination table, and you lifted your legs and squirted a fine line of brown up my shirt, from my navel to just below my chin. I didn't have another shirt to change into, and so, for lack of anything else to do, I greeted everyone I met for the rest of that office visit with a thumbs up and the biggest smile they'd ever seen. I looked like the smiley-faced dot a young, dreamy girl might place over the "i" you'd just drawn on me with your butt.
And then we switched pediatricians by cell phone on the car ride home.
Today you turn eight, and right now I feel like you are the biggest smile I've ever seen dotting the line of crap that seven pooped on you. May this year treat you better.
I love you,