Tiny Weapons of Mass Destruction

Those hands are really moving now. Even when he's falling asleep, his arm will be raised in salute, little barbed fingers searching for the next subject of exploration: my lips, my nose, my eyelid. Now we all look like Rocky Balboa. And everything that is small enough to fit in his hand goes in his mouth. This morning it was my husband's nose. "Bun, no good can come out of this," he said.

Truer words have never been spoken.