I hear giggling, squeaking and general little-person excitement coming from the other room. My children are howling, toys rattling, playing ensuing, laughing and carrying on like best friends reminiscing over time past, when my fearless crawler scoots around the corner into my sight.
And then I see it. He’s been marked.
What the !? Is this some poor excuse for a mustache, or something?
I’ll give you two guesses who did this. (And I don’t think you’re gonna need both of ’em.)
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