Our Little Number 30

Thing 2 is built like a rugby player.  Or a linebacker.  Or a heavy-weight wrestler.  He’s short, and he’s solid.  Carrying him around is like picking up a concrete cinder block and taking it with you, in your arms, all day long.  It’s worse than carrying around your Coach bag, full of everything a girl needs to survive the day out in the wild, away from home.

Muscle spasms run rampant in my biceps these days; I have a chiropractor on retainer.

When the boy was one (ONE, PEOPLE!), he had a Denver Broncos jersey.  #30… Good old Terrell Davis.

(Mr. Davis is every bit as elderly as Hubs and I are; I know this to be true, because I used the Google on him, to find out the proper combination of R’s and L’s in TERRELL.  There, in the Wikipedia, was his date of birth, and we all know that the Wikipedia doesn’t lie.)

The boy wore his Terrell Davis jersey to the very first football game ever played at Invesco Field.  He was thirteen months old, and he threw his pacifier over the railing in front of us.  Thankfully, the “wild crowd” below us saw it all happen, and the big, burly, bearded-like-ZZ-Top men picked it up, yelled that binkies were for the opponents on the field, and threw it back to us with some big, belly laughs.  The boy enjoyed our new friends so much, he threw his binky over the railing a second time, for a repeat performance from the looked-like-a-pack-of-Hell’s-Angels-in-blue-and-orange group.

As it turned out, they were quite friendly.  They bought us nachos.  They were feeling great, because the Broncos won, and because they loved the boy.

Hubs saved that jersey, forever and ever, amen.  It had been tucked away in our sack of keepsakes, which is not to be confused with our sack(s) of non-keepsakes.  We just store those to dirty up our garage, until we hear a divine word that it’s time to release them into the custody of the Salvation Army for someone else to enjoy.

This week, we got the Bronco jersey out.  We expected to hang it in the closet and wait for Thing 2 to grow into it.

Three days later, we tried it on him, and he had grown into it.

He’s six months old.

Of course, he weighs what the boy weighed when he was thirteen months old, so there you have it.

May I introduce our future running back?

By the end of the day, Thing 2 was in a plain, white T-shirt.  Grammy changed his diaper, and there was a bit of a surprise, as Thing 2 decided WHOA!  COLD AIR!, and peed.

Hubs gave him a little talking-to about how WE DO NOT PEE ON BRONCO JERSEYS, and how IF YOU REALLY NEED TO PEE ON A JERSEY, MAKE SURE IT’S BLACK AND SILVER.

I think that Thing 2 has it all straight now.

Happy Wednesday, y’all.

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