Man, it's hard being the third born. I wouldn't know personally, as the oldest (and some might say favorite. Stacy? Victoria?), but I have watched my little George suffer the effects of being the littlest bro. He is none the wiser and I think he will actually be the toughest, scrappiest one of the bunch. He'll have to be if he's going to survive Eddie. Yesterday I walked away from them for all of four seconds when I heard a thud (George's head) and turned to see that Eddie had tackled him to the ground for an empty sippy cup. I'd hate to see what would have happened if it was a cookie.
But that's not the point. The point is I have chronicled each kid's birthday on here, and it occurred to me that George hit the big milestone of his first and I hadn't even mentioned it. Not that anyone is really paying attention, but that's the kind of ammo kids use later in life. I know, I've done it. (Like when my parents got my little sister the EXACT replica of my favorite doll that had blown away in the wind when I was three. Yes, it blew away.)
So, George, here it is, buddy. A little tribute to you. Your goofy, toothy grin can turn the worst day around. You laugh like you know some secret joke many times a day, and you don't have me fooled one bit - you are the biggest rascal of them all. I love you with all my heart.