We all know that I am completely enamored with my sweet baby Cody. Cody was the best birthday present ever. For once, not only did my husband have a good idea, but he actually followed through with it, and kept it a secret-which is a big deal for him. (When he bought my engagement ring, he told me one late night out at the bar "Don't look in my closet when you come over to my house. I have a surprise." Really, he said that. He also once gave me a Valentine's Day present about a month and a half early.)
But Cody somewhat rules my life. He is an 80 pound attention whore, puppy-eyed, 2 year old. He will huff and sigh and whine his way inside the house, and just when I think I've got some good cuddle time coming, he'll either take advantage of my hospitality and maul me with his nasty dog breath and too big paws or leave me to lay next to his daddy.
But I still love him, and I still let him manipulate me. And someday we will have another baby, and Cody will lose some of his importance. But he will always, always be my first very big baby.