Balls, Balls, Balls

Addison is addicted.

He has basketballs, footballs, bouncy balls, little balls, footballs. Anything that is remotely round is a "Ball!" First thing in the morning, standing in his crib, he is pointing to his balls and the floor and mumbling, "Ball!" Last thing at night, as we wrestle him into his pajammas, he resists, holding on tight to his ball. He sees the "B" on a Red Sox hat and cries "Ball!". Before we leave the house, the shoes go on, the coat, and a ball is snatched to hold in the car. He holds it in the grocery store, in his stroller, at nursery.

We have a basketball court outside our door that is in use most hours of the day; the dullest thud of the bouncing orange ball sends Addison to our door crying, "Buh Ball! Buh Ball!"