My 18 month old is no longer 18 months old. He’s two now. Big old two. Big old I don’t need you anymore I’ll be off to college next week and don’t call me I’ll call you two. Sigh. For his birthday I toted him and his chubby cheeks down to the mall for photos. He held it together long enough to get a couple nice shots:
Since he has a Christmas birthday I subjected him to a Santa suit too:
That suit is 100 different kinds of cute. Don't believe me? Try this on for size:
I die a little every time I see him in it. Sort of like how I die a little every time I look at the fugly homemade birthday cake I made him:
My husband thinks it’s a wonderful Cat in the Hat cake. Which is awesome except I wasn’t going for Cat in the Hat. It was supposed to be a candy cane. Only I ran out of red food coloring which made the red sort of pinkish. And it started leaning immediately. And then the Leaning Tower of Cat in the Hat fell over. Twice. I’d like to say it looked significantly better before it fell but whatever. The fall didn’t help.
The Ding Dong looking thing next to it was for my husband who prefers chocolate icing. I had some extra cake so I hooked him up. I’m good to that man. In return he told me the cake looked good. That's love, people. Give and take.
The birthday boy also got presents. Presents his father hijacked for a test drive:
And then we took him to the aquarium. The kid loves ducks. The aquarium has ducks. That’s called, doing him a solid. The aquarium also has a jaguar which makes little or no sense to me but it’s pretty and seems to like my son. Here he is preparing to eat my baby: