As Stella ran around her room with her shirt around/over her head, Donald and I both agreed she looked like a little boy.
So meet our son. The one with a pot belly (as best seen in the blurry 1st picture) and camouflage pants. The one who refuses to bathe lately. The one who I can barely get clothes on these days. The son who likes to check out his poop and then wave "Hi/Bye Poopy!" The one who last weekend took a handful of leaves and shoved that fistful up Aunt Jessica's tailpipe and came back with a sooty black hand and arm and pretty much ruined the pink top that goes with the camo pants.
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