Proof of Ownership

No DNA test required to prove Ryan's my son, though these examples are enough to give Mommy-sahn "the pip" as my mom would say...

Not only was he swayin' and boppin' along to some heavy metal music during a commercial this evening, but yesterday Ainsley and I were invited to an '80s-themed costume party (Grandad was nice enough to offer to babysit all night). We got ready before dinner so we could leave right after, though Ryan didn't know who to regard first: Madonna with child on his right or some freakazoid punk-ass metal head to his left. Mommy just looked pretty and shiny and bauble-y, so he focused most of his gaze on me, asking in his polite inquisitive 2-year-old way, WTF?

But he did want to try on my wrist bands, and once we were able to get him to call the black smudges under my eye as 'make-up' rather than 'wake-up', he wiped his finger across his cheek and said, "Ryan?"

I LOVE YOU, said Daddy, proud as punch that his son, too, wants to be what his wife can only lovingly describe as a 'dork'.