Can't Trick Brock
Brock is not generally a very consistent dude. He has good days and bad days, perfect nights and hellacious ones, with little rhyme or reason. Yep, he's a baby. But one of the things I can count on and look forward to are our man-mornings. Holly is an amazing supermom that tackles nearly all the overnight terror, and in return Brock and I get up real early and take the party upstairs while she sleeps in. It's that magic hour or two before work that i can nearly always count on Brock to be happy, attentive, interactive, and just very obviously elated to be alive and at the very center of his daddy's attention. So we'll just sing and dance, or read some books, or Brock will tell me a very long story about i'm-not-sure-what (i still haven't quite figured out his language.) This morning he was especially giggly, and was thoroughly enjoying his first listen to my butchering of "We Want the Funk" when i realized it had been a while since our last post, and