Some things are best forgotten

I have decided that it is a good thing we do not remember our infancy.  This decision was made whilst I was closely inspecting Little Man's derriere for remnants of what I will euphemistically call "stuff".  If we remembered the diaper changes, the crying fits, the nursing, the thousands of kisses planted on various parts of our bodies and the high, squeeky voices endlessly repeating phrases like "You're so cute, can I get a smile?  Can I get a smile?  There's a sweet smile!  Oh!  You letting out some gas?  Wow, that's a good boy!  You fart like your Daddy!", we would all be scarred for life, constantly feeling just a little sick to our stomachs.  Just a thought.  Which brings me to some irony:

Little Mister's happiest place is the changing table.  He could be screaming bloody murder and the second his body hits the changing pad, he's all smiles.  Apparently he likes clean diapers (who'd blame him?) and being naked (the naked part seems to be his favorite).

Yesterday I knit my first gauge swatch,

(picture of the cast on) which is mildly appalling because I've finished several items already, breaking the rules along the way I guess.  This is going to be a hat for Zeb, progress pics to come.  Speaking of, I think I'll go knit now... :)