The DragonMonkey is a beautiful child.

I know I’m his mother and that I’m biased, but it’s the truth. Whenever we go out in public we get swarmed.

He’s so gorgeous!

Look at his eyes!

What a beautiful child!

What a handsome little man!

He should be a model!

It’s been that way since he was a baby.

Lately, we’ve even been hearing, “He looks just like that kid from Sixth Sense!”

While I’m proud of my son, I wouldn’t care how he rates in other’s eyes….

Except now I have a Squidgelet.

When I go out in public, I don’t hear the same oohs and aahs.

I hear things like, “Wow, what a healthy-looking baby!”

“He’s definitely alert!”

“He looks solid!”

The Squidgelet is a peaceful baby, and I have to tell you— that is a WELCOME addition to this household after the past two years of terror that the DragonMonkey inflicted upon us.

Squidgelet is totally content to just hang out. He enjoys being held, but if you need to put him down, that’s okay.

He’s an incredibly smiley baby, too.

He started laughing at 6 weeks old and hasn’t stopped since.

It doesn’t take much to make him happy. As long as he’s not hungry or wet, he’s happy. In fact, on a regular basis I’ll walk into the room and see him propped up in his swing, laughing his little heart out.

At nothing.

It’s kind of disconcerting, actually. What in the world is so funny about a wall? Or a door jam?

I used to wonder about it, until someone snapped this photo of the Squidgelet:

And that’s when it clicked:

Aaaaaaah. Now I get it.

I gave birth to a little, bitty, reincarnated Dewey from Malcolm in the Middle.

I like to be dirty.

No, I’m not talking in a fetish, adult kind of a way. I mean I like being grubby. Getting dirt on me doesn’t bother me in the least, and I could really care less about germs.

As a kid my favorite thing to do was to play in the mud.

As an adult, not much has changed.

When I drop my fork on the floor… you know what I do? I pick it up.

It’s the floor. It’s not like I tend to eat knee-deep in fresh manure.

When I’m in public or around polite society, I pretend to care if I drop a piece of food on the floor. I’ll wrap it up in my napkin and toss it in the trash or place it beside my plate, bemoaning the loss.

When I’m by myself, I’m not quite so finicky. Pick it up, blow off the cat hair, and pop it in your mouth. Am I right? Who’s with me on this?

In fact, when I lived by myself, not only did I live by the “five-second” rule… I kind of stretched it out. It was more like a “Finder’s Keepers” rule.

So, NATURALLY, I would give birth to this:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hbiQ5Va_BSU]

Who IS this child? He can’t possibly be mine.