The bathtime streaker, aka Iggy.

Our new bathtime routine goes something like this:

1)  The diaper comes off and Igg is off, moving as far away from me as he can:

iggy my natural baby

A future sprinter in the making

2)  Stops for a quick “in your face Mom” torment:

iggy my natural baby

Who can resist those big brown eyes and loooong eyelashes?

3)  Screams in protest that I’m calling him out on running away from me:

my natural baby iggy

He even gets his arms involved in the protest.

4)  Bolts as fast as he can, down the hallway and far away:

Head down, and he's outta here.

5)  Thinks to himself, “Perhaps if I hid in the laundry, she won’t find me”:

my natural baby iggy

The loud shrieks give his hiding spot away.

6)  With cat like reflexes, I’m able to swoop and place Iggy in the warm, soapy bath:

my natural baby iggy

Since when is shampoo just for hair?

7)  But this wouldn’t be a typical bath without the operatics that Iggy is becoming so reknowned for:

my natural baby iggy

His range puts Pavarotti to shame.

Then it’s out of the bath, wrestling for 5 minutes trying to put a diaper on and he’s off again.  I don’t know where this baby gets his energy from!

Iggy is turning one on Wednesday and his mouth is celebrating by housing one tooth.  That’s right folks, Igg is still the one toothed bandit, at least for another couple of weeks.

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