No, it’s not surrealist word-game poetry in your spam-box, it’s Max! I think there’s no better way to celebrate our freedom than streaking. Our fore-fathers had no idea, but subtly written into the sub-text of the constitution (and subsequent admendments (less the 18th, which was the dumbest thing ever)), is the idea of streaking. Second only to the skinny-dip, the streak is the ultimate expression of freedom.
Not ready for the dip or the streak, Max choses the changing table as his soap box. The only thing missing is a sparkler or a bottle rocket, but I would probably go to jail for that.
In baby news: Max rolled from his tummy to his back for the first time today. I have no idea how he did this because I was digging through a box next to the boy, he noticed I wasn’t watching, and went for it.