You, my son, love nothing more than to pose like Spiderman. I still have no idea what sparked your love of superheroes but here we are, months and months later and your obsession continues. A picture taken is not a picture of value unless you’re showing off your Spiderman moves.
You, my daughter, make me look frumpy. If I attempt to wear my hair down or put on jewelry, you mess with it. A lot. You’ve broken earrings and necklaces, you pull at my eyelashes if I wear mascara. You ripped one of my earrings out of my ear so hard it bled!
So, child, I suppose for you I will be ugly from here on out.
Yes these are photographic proof that you can’t leave my apparel alone. I have flashed a handful of people the last two years not from breastfeeding in public (though we do that, modestly) but because you will randomly grab the top of my shirt and pull it down to my belly button. That’s not very fun, for the record.