Although I'm just nine months old, I fancy myself as an overachiever. And that notion goes from the top of the head to the bottom of my feet.
Or maybe the sides of my feet.
When you go to a store to buy me shoes, I need to warn you about the chart they have about matching up months to sizes. It don't work for me. In fact, I fart in its general direction.
You see, I've got wide feet. Mommy comes from a family of the wide footed, and she passed down the legacy to me. So even though they length might work, the width doesn't. Unless you think bustin' at the seams is a good look. Or the unvelcroable.
Is unvelcroable a word?
It isn't?
It is now.
Unvelcroable.
Sweet.
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