The Grumpiest Boy

He's not the easiest baby in the world.

For a while I might have thought that he was, but I think that I had forgotten that, generally, infants are pretty easy.

He is melodramatic. He throws his adorable hands in front of his adorable face and bows his head and manages to strike a pose of absolute despair. When he walks with his head bowed over, it is equal parts pathetic and hilarious.

He wants to be carried most of the time.  He is very big, and I am increasingly bigger myself, and I just don't want to. But he has no regard for my feelings. He just wants his mama. He also wants her at around four o'clock every morning. I had promised myself that I would work on sleep training him over Christmas Break, but then he was sick, and I didn't have the heart. But tonight might be the night. In a few short months he will have a little sister, and there are a few things that need to happen before her arrival, most importantly, for Arlo to stay in his bed.

Even in his grumpiest, most distraught moment, he can usually be ployed with the promise of a bath. And he will play in the water until it gets cold, identifying the octopus and the penguin, the snake and the dinosaurs. The way he says each word makes me remember why I carry him when I know I should make him walk. Why I let him crawl into bed when I know I should make him sleep in his own.

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