It honestly, naively perhaps, never occurred to me that when taking Elvis to the beach he would try and eat it.
He face-bombed the sand, his version of a cuddle and kiss and then sat up with sand on his forehead, in his eyes, up his nose and in his mouth. Everytime he sneezed more sand appeared. Then he tried to eat stones, then handfuls of sand, then he began chewing the bucket and spade, eating more sand. We gave up and let him eat sand, remaining vigilent on the stone-eating issue.
Then I walked him to the sea and let the waves get him. He loved it, smiling with each incoming wave and wanting to walk further out with each outward wave.
Elvis is so truly amazing, I don’t believe it. Passengers on the plane were in love with him, complimenting on how well he’s been brought up. Old ladies at breakfast fall in love with him. He needs work when he’s tired, but he can be distracted and doesn’t cry. He hasn’t been scared by his Grandparents’ dog. He isn’t afraid of he sea or sand.
How have I made such a little boy?
~ P
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