So I'm up at 6:13am, waking to the cries of my son needing nourishment. I get a bottle ready, grab the Boppy and a burp cloth, and trundle across the hardwood floors of my home, eyes half open, longing for my bed, and the beautiful woman still blissfully asleep in it. I enter the nursery, pick up baby Jay, and when he sees me, he recognizes The Food Guy, and smiles as big as his little face can, waving his arms and legs. What a sight. People go to wars for that smile. So I pick up this beautiful boy, sit down on the couch, turn on NFL Total Access, and start to feed him his bottle. He gulps it up, while making little baby squeals of pleasure. I look down at him. His eyes are half closed, and he's drinking as fast as he can. Just then, his eyes open, and he reaches up with his little chubby hand, and wraps it around my thumb, and looks at me. We share a moment, that moment of unconditional love only a parent and a child could share. I think I would do anything to keep this beautiful child safe and happy. As he looks at me, and I at him, I say, " I love you."
And without missing a beat, he farts. This is my son.
...And the Bengals suck.