This is Robert. (If you pass out at my house we’re gonna take a selfie. Grief does not excuse you. Rules are rules.) I refer to him as my son, it’s easier, but obviously he’s not mine. Christina calls me the Angelina Jolie of the avenues, due to the color variation of my adopted kids. Anyways I dropped the phone and his foot looks really swollen. I started to move it then told myself get a grip Amber this isn’t your 8 year old. Checking out someone’s feet while they sleep is creepy and will weird him out. So ima sit here and stare at him until he wakes up, instead.