Looking Good, Feeling Fine

Donovan here. Many of you have commented on my, shall we say, healthiness. What can I say? I don't like to see my high chair tray empty. I enjoy a good pureed squash as much as the nexy guy. And don't get me started on the the little fruit stars that have been appearing of late. Mmmmmm.

But I have to admit the snide comments are getting to me. I can't be wheeled through the mall without an "oh my, that sure us a well-fed baby!" comment. Dad's the worst, with the grunts and groans whenever he picks me up, and the obviously faked shoulder injury.

As evidence of the fact that I'm more beefcake than ice cream cake, I offer this:



Look at the taut abs... the bulging biceps... the rope-like lats. OK, so I need a little work on the chins... and the cheeks... my Popeye wrists... not to mention the chest, which I admit looks a little droopy.

And if I'm a little doughy, so what? Just more of me to love, baby. Want a little more, you say? Here you go: