James will be 14 year old, playing summer league basketball and I will still be carrying around these darned spit- rags. "Time-out Ref! My son spit up again, let me clean it or everyone will slip."
At a camp out with friends, James will be cooking marshmallows and spit-up all over his sleeping bag and jammies.
At school, I will submissively follow him around cleaning up the spit up he casually and without any warning or guilt leaks down his chin and on his clothes.
Don't spit- up on the piano James!
I am pretty sure when James is 19 years old and leaving on his mission I will still be carrying around these spit-up rags. I will look back as we drive away from dropping him off at the MTC, and say, "Oh, Honey turn around James just spit up again all over his new suit."
Seriously James, you are cute for baby, really cute, but this spit-up has got to end, honestly you are almost nine months old. The carpet is going to get up and crawl out of this house, it has had enough. So have I. Give it up son, you win, spit up time is over.