Jack has discovered the moon. He lifts his chubby little chin and searches the night sky for it, when it is found he points with vigorous joy and says “moon.” It melts me, I am toast, it is too much for my sappy heart to handle.
The other day a woman stopped me on the street and told me that all redheads are descended from Vikings (totally normal occurrence for us, people go nuts for redheaded babies, I get stopped multiple times a day and peppered with questions and information.) But I can see a streak of Viking in him, every toy becomes a mallet. I’m pretty sure the internal chant in his head is “smash, smash, smash, smash.”
Due to his prowess for smashing everything is sight, the gentler side of his nature particularly delights me. He loves to pick flowers, he holds them under his nose with great exaggerated inhales and says “fwowa” and then shoves the flower under my nose to smell. “Smash, smash, smash, flower, moon” that’s my boy, a sensitive little Viking.