Having children seems to be the greatest and worst thing in the world all at once. One second they're sitting on your lap with an adorable smile, and the next you're cleaning their poop off of your pants. It's wonderful, it's horrible, it's everything rolled into one.
Edie has been a joy to hear learn to talk. She's gotten very good at spontaneous speech, and is getting much better at letting us know exactly what she wants. She asked me to help her get a drink at church this afternoon, so we walked over to the water fountain. She's never really tried to use a fountain before, though, so after five or six failed attempts and water soaking her face, hands, and hair, she looked up at me and simply said, "Let's get a cup." She loves to help Marty take a bath and offers to brush his hair about ninety times a day. And she screams bloody murder when it's time to brush her teeth or put on clothes for the day, so, I mean, it's not all great, I guess.
Marty's adorable, as you might expect out of a four month-old. He sat and watched the Super Bowl with me and spent most of the time quietly wringing his hands as though he was truly invested in the high-pressure matchup. He's laughing quite a lot now, and even when Edie comes to kiss him or tickle him. And yesterday, while I was bouncing him on my knee, he threw up all over my face and even a little in my mouth.
These are the best kids, and these are the worst kids, and these are my kids.