
Miles is great. Walking and running and hopping and jumping. Taking yoga class and he does warrior pose and tree pose and a wicked down dog. Talking a mile a minute, learning new words every day. Greeting people he meets on the street with his “hell-oooooo” - he sounds like a Frenchman answering the phone when he says that.
He’s flirting like crazy, batting his big cow eyes at women at the park, on the subway, checkout counter girls. He’s shameless and persistent. He’s a righty and likes basketball. He tags along with Chris whenever he can, and won’t leave the big kids alone. He picks up our IPhones, slides his finger across the bottom of the screen and finds his applications.
He answers every question with a no, whether he means no or yes. He eats like a champ, and leaves a trail of Cheerios where ever he goes.
And yesterday he fell down the stairs right in front of me, two complete somersaults. He’s fine, nothing more than a fat lip which is already gone this morning.
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