So, our boy figured out how to crawl today. I'm sure you're dying to hear all about it. So, I'll just say this: he's been sick as a dog for 72 hours, eyes crusted shut, upper lip doing doggy paddle in a toxic booger sea, no energy, minimal interest in MTV Cribs ...
But when it's your day to crawl, by God, crawl you must!
And Gus answered the call. Trudging across the floor, meaty palms flapping out to each side, half-terrified, half-oblivious, until he reached (insert white lights and hallelujah chorus here) THE GUITAR.
The camera was rolling, and I was cheering (until I blacked out), and Larry was holding his breath, convinced Gus would pick up that guitar and play the opening licks of Satisfaction. But Gus just smiled, bellyflopped, and wiped his nose on the rug.
But when it's your day to crawl, by God, crawl you must!
And Gus answered the call. Trudging across the floor, meaty palms flapping out to each side, half-terrified, half-oblivious, until he reached (insert white lights and hallelujah chorus here) THE GUITAR.
The camera was rolling, and I was cheering (until I blacked out), and Larry was holding his breath, convinced Gus would pick up that guitar and play the opening licks of Satisfaction. But Gus just smiled, bellyflopped, and wiped his nose on the rug.
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