And, Then, Things Got Weird

Max’s face and head seem to change slightly everyday. I’m not sure if ye olde Alzheimer’s is kicking in already or he’s just growing really fast or if it’s a little of both but, I swear, every morning, he seems just a little different. Better, newer, but different.
Regardless of each morning’s mighty morph, it seems that my family’s head-shape gene is currently dominating. This results in moments on the changing table, with the right light, at the right angle, it pretty much appears to me that I’m changing my Dad’s diaper. Or, at least changing the diaper of a baby that suddenly has my Dad’s head.
Head down: wipe, wipe wipe. Glance up: Woah!
You get the picture.
It certainly makes the little Dr. Freud in you do a double-take when you’re concentrating on the mess down there, you glance up at the kid’s face and it’s your Dad, lookin’ at you all googly-eyed.