Though he's officially no longer a baby, my baby is still not old enough to give gifts. Not gifts in the traditional sense, mind you, like the kind people think about and wrap and exchange on purpose. I'm talking about gifts involving mashed bananas (that aren't intentionally puréed prior to baking). Alas, there are little gifts my baby has given me nearly every day since he was born; the kind of sorta yucky gifts that only a mother’s love can make tolerable.
Honestly, I am actually fairly honored by each of these little presents, even if a little grossed out and inconvenienced by them at times. They're each a consequence of our unmatched closeness and of the total innocence required to not even realize or care that you're drooling on another person or letting your snot stain their shirt. If only he could always be as comfortable and lacking in self-consciousness as his tiniest baby self.
Honestly, the icky and uncomfortable gifts my baby gives me might actually one of the most useful gifts anyone has ever given me, now a far more recovered clean and control freak than I was in years of trying, before giving birth to him. All at once, I had to get used to the level of mess that used to make me break out in literal hives, in order to keep us both alive. That's been so liberating that I could almost forget the downsides of presents like: