If his career as a pro soccer player doesn’t work out, I think my son has a real future in the World Wrestling Championships. You know, the one where it’s all televised and theatrical and they slag each other off verbally before the physical onslaught begins.
Yes, Caleb practices his best moves on me daily. Climbing high onto the couch, he jumps into the air and lands on my tummy/neck/nearest-innocently-bystanding-appendage (and yes, sometimes he yells out during it and yes, sometimes it really hurts) but here’s the clincher: instead of going in for the final lethal head-butt, he cuddles me to bits.
What a damn good thing toddlers are cute.