Oh, Look At The Little Baby

Tonight you were doing your normal routine: running around the house demanding to watch television one minute, needing cheese the next--which you then threw into a container outside--screaming about needing something in the kitchen, dropping to the ground to pick a squished raisin off the linoleum . . . with your teeth, chasing the kat, falling chin-first into the living room floor, climbing the bookshelf and throwing anything you could reach onto the floor, demanding a horse ride then crying when I put you on . . . when you suddenly noticed your binky.

Pause.

A serene look passed over your face as you reached out for the binky and put it into your mouth. You wanted down, so I stood you on your feet, but you got down on your hands and knees and began waddling around the carpet like an infant. You perfected the waddle and then took it on the road, into the living room where your mother was sitting. "Oh," she said, "look at the little baby."

You waddled up to your mama and wrapped your arms around her legs like it was all you could do. She reached down and picked you up and held you on your back in her arms singing children's songs. And you lay there so peaceful, looking around with very sleepy eyes, sucking on your binky and every now and again closing your eyes and snuggling into your mother's arms.

5 minutes of this and you wanted down. You then waddled across the room to me and did the same routine, acting the part just perfectly (eerily). Then it was back to the old Save for a little while, running, destroying, demanding. Then, a little later, you decided to be a baby again. And again, you played the part like a good little actress.

You are a funny little kid.

You wear me out, but you always leave me with something to laugh about or admire in you.

I love you,
Dad