Un. Freaking. Real. Five years old. As your mom, MoMo, me and you sat on your bed last night talking about the photo of you just born that sits on your mirror, a flood of memories raced through my mind. Like on July 6, 2005, when you were in your little Jumperoo thingy and you pooped then jumped all around the poop on the floor.
Ya. That was hilarious... until I had to clean it up. But you taught me a valuable lesson that day: "There's just something spiritual about a father cleaning up his child who is covered in crap."
Carter, your mom and I are proud of you. Your mom and I love you.
I pray that the favor of God rests on you.
Five years ago, we were changing tar diapers and feeding you bottles.
Today, you are changing little guys boxer briefs and feeding you bacon-cheeseburger pizza.
Happy Birthday Chico Suave!
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