You know, it should be said at this point that, regardless of the number of photos that I take of you, my skill with the camera pales in comparison to your mother's.
She's the one who, when we walked into the camera store to buy the exciting and wonderful camera with which we take all of these photos (it's a Panasonic Lumix FZ-20 if anyone's wondering), was asking the salesperson all sorts of questions about macro shooting, f-stops, shutter speeds and other such technical wizardry.
I just wanted to know if I'd be able to point and shoot it. Testament to the twin capabilities so present in this tool is the cornucopia of photographic evidence that we have so far amassed of your existence.
To this end, the most recent installment of photos in our photo album were taken by your mum.
In related news, we went to see your mate Sam again on the weekend, and you were kind enough to sleep for long enough to allow your mum and dad and their friends to get through a bottle of ludicrously expensive French Champagne. Of course, as you get older, I'll explain to you how all Champagne is, by its definition, French, and that sparkling wines from other regions should be referred to as méthode champenoise.
Love you.
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