I have been spending a lot of time this summer with a very special man. He is cute, funny, silly, charming, good-natured, slightly deranged and enchanting. He is my friend Tanya’s 14-month-old baby, Alexander.

 

To say Alexander and I have bonded this summer would be an understatement. In fact, I am in love with the baby. I pine for him when I haven’t seen him in a few days and long to nuzzle his sweet-smelling, downy head. I miss him when he’s not around. While in his presence, I delight in every giggle, every coo, every moment he reacts to the sight of me with joy and hugs me hard, and for as long as five minutes, while chanting his name for me over and over again: “Ga …… Ga. Ga ….. Ga. Ga …… Ga.” I don’t mind when he pulls my hair and bites my toes. I see it merely as a sign of his love for me.

 

It got so bad last night that I texted Tanya the following order: “Get that baby to call me right now. I want to talk to him.” She refused. Because she is jealous. And she fears that baby might dump her for me. And she is wise to fear that, because I would steal that baby from her so fast her head would spin if only given the opportunity.

 

I have not been so enthralled by a baby since my own children were babies. In fact, I didn’t know a baby could exist who was as wonderful as my babies. But my friend Tanya and her husband Rowbear have proven me wrong. They have produced a baby of utter excellence. The third-best baby ever. I love him, I want him, and I am pondering abducting him and taking his adorableness to DC with me.

UPDATED: With a photo of the real Alexander because his mother said so.

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