I leave for work when Walker is still tightly tucked under the covers. No glasses. No motor skills. No brain function. Every morning I give him a kiss on the forehead and bid him adieu. He always manages to muster some sort of response (luuhh….groan…yu). This morning was no different.
Me: Love you. Bye.
Walker: Love you, too.
Walker: April fools.
Either he really doesn’t love me, or he thinks in jokes even while he’s asleep.
Considering this was our ‘prank’ for the day, I’m feeling old.