Violet
Five months.
My son was five months old, and apparently nobody had explained to him that he was supposed to grow like a normal baby.
“Doom!”
“What?”
“Your son doesn't fit in his pajamas.”
Heavy footsteps came down the hallway.
My husband appeared in Thane's doorway wearing nothing but gray sweatpants, his hair still wet from the shower.
He looked at our son stretched across the changing table.
Then at the pajamas I'd been trying to snap.
“What the f**k you do to them?”
My mouth dropped open.
“What did I do?”
“They shrink?”
“No, you giant pain in my ass. Your son grew again.”
Thane kicked his chunky legs.
The pajamas weren't even close to snapping.
I'd bought them three weeks ago.
Doom looked proud.
Actually proud.
“Big f*****g boy.”
“Stop encouraging him.”
Doom
