A Dad and His Boy. . . or . . . Do These Pants Make Me Look Fat?

I don't think any boy has ever loved his daddy as much as Ford loves his.

It's a man thing, Mama.  You wouldn't understand.

He bounces up and down in pure joy when O comes home from work.

Yay!  A break from silly girl stuff!

By the way, Dad, have you ever seen such a fine physical specimen?  22.5 pounds of rock-solid studliness here.

He's the perfect cure for our end-of-the-day-will-bathtime-ever-get-here doldrums.

Yo, Mama.  Bring me a juicebox.

No juice?  What kind of establishment are you running here, lady?

Da-da, the conditions around here...deplorable, I tell you. 

At least you're here to hear all my troubles, Dad.

And he's a great admiring audience for all of our new tricks.

Check out my impressive wingspan. 

Dad.  I told you we weren't talking about the milk-gut.  I don't make comments about your belly, do I?

Besides, I clearly need it for balance.

Yep, Dad's pretty much Ford's favorite person.

Whew.  Been a long, hard day at the office, Da-Da.

Between working my exersaucer, Johnny Jump-Up, and Mama, I'm worn out.

Let's kick back and watch some baseball.

And this Mama wouldn't have it any other way.

I love my Da-da.