Since FoH could talk, he has called icecream, cake.

As he continues to grow up, one of the things I will miss the shit out of are his words. These endearing words that have become an inside vocabulary of our own little world.

I don’t bother correcting him {fear not, my loves — I do correct grammatical phrasing}. He’ll learn soon enough. He’ll know and then one day, which is coming sooner than I’d like, it’ll be icecream.

And that will be that. But it will always be cake to me. Forever and ever.