You are a star, Mister A. For grinning and giggling and blowing spit bubbles through your teething pain, for trying oh-so-compliantly to choke down some lunch before deciding that no, it just wasn't happening. (We could have done without you shoving the bowl out of my hands and onto the floor, but hey, nobody's totally perfect.)
You're also a star for straight up rocking those new pajamas of yours, the ones you chose yourself at the store yesterday. (He really did! I'd chosen the brown monkey set when he practically lunged out of my arms toward this lion ensemble. I tried to put it back on the rack, but he just grinned and cooed with delight, hugging the lion shirt to his chest. Who am I to suppress his burgeoning fashion sense?) Finally, you're a star for the sweet duck tail puff of white blond hair sticking straight up off your head this morning. The one so sweet I refuse to slick it down. It works on you.
So loved, my little star.