When Pumpkin Spice Lattes are back at Starbucks, it means one glorious thing:
It's college football season.
I don't really care about sports, Simon, but college football is more than a sport. It's tailgates and chili and Sam Adams Octoberfest (when you're older) and wool socks and NorthFace fleeces and screaming at refs and cheering until your throat hurts and the blessed land called James Madison University--(more on JMU later; that's where you'll go to school someday).
You're napping in your bassinet next to me right now. You're on your belly, even though everyone says not to let you sleep that way, but that's how you sleep best during the day, so I just keep an eye on you. I know you're OK because I see your little pacifier bobbing around in your mouth. You love that thing.
In the next few months, Simon, you'll get your first taste of a JMU football game. I'll put you in your JMU onesie if it still fits you, and we'll try our darnedest to find the Duke Dog so you can meet him and ask him to put in a good word for early admission into the class of 2034.
Until then, you just keep sucking away on that paci. You make your mama so happy. I am always excited to see you, even at 3am when you wake up for your feeding. You're so cute the way you squirm around in your swaddle until I take you out of it. Then all of your limbs come popping out like a can of biscuits. That's what your daddy and I call it. We say, "Let's open up this can 'a biscuits, Mama!" and then we watch your face light up because you know you're about to get fed.
I love you, son. I hope that you enjoy college football the way your daddy and I do, but I sure hope you don't want to play football, because then your mama will turn into a worried mess and I won't even be able to enjoy my Pumpkin Spice Lattes!