Contraband

Finn tired desperately to stay awake to watch Dancing with the Stars last night, but after a strenuous workout at the YMCA Shrimp & Kipper swim classs (aka Swimmies) he was just too worn out.    He ate an enormous dinner and sucked back almost 16 oz of milk in a two hour time frame.    As we sat in Daddy’s big chair,  he whipped his head away from the bottle and passed out.  John said, “Leah,  you reached the ‘Do Not Fill Past This Point’ line on his neck.”    

Finn rose early enough this morning to see his father off to the 6:11 train.    When we went into the nursery to collect him,  all John and I could see was mussed up hair and beady little eyes peaking over the bumper.    He gave us a huge grin as we snuggled him.    His little hand was balled up tight.  When I pried it open, I discovered a lone mashed Fruit Puff stuck to his palm.   He giggled.    Daddy said,  “Finn has contraban in his crib.   We are going to have to toss the place.  It’s a Shakedown, Finn.”  

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