It's all about the hair

It never fails every single time I want to enjoy a cookie, I look around and I have Belle trying to get a piece of the action. What is a baby to do? Perhaps if I convince her that Gribouille and Toulouse each have their own cookie she'll go and harass them.



I came to the sad realization this morning that no matter how hard I try to convince myself otherwise, I have Papa's hair. Thus I will be resigned to a life of using more than my fair share of product in my hair. And is it just me or do I have a startling resemblance to Grand-Papa? Five days shy of being eight months old and I am starting to understand it is a cold, cruel world.