I just really, really, really like saying "my godson." I am astonished at how many times I’ve already talked about how proud I am of my godson, how perfect he is, how he, at three days old, looks like he’s thinking at at LEAST a seven-day-old level.
I mean, really. With a fiddle-accordian-playing song-writing sailor for a mother, and godmothers like us, he’ll get his first tattoo by twelve. And it’ll be a GOOD one, too. We did offer to try some designs out last night with a Sharpie, but Joni just shook her head in what was probably exhaustion, but what we took as mild encouragement.
And at the risk of sending our mothers into joint tailspins of grandmotherly dreams, I have to share this picture of my godson and my girl.
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