I got the brush-off the other day dropping the Kid off at school. It was subtle, but he got his point across, "OK, Mom, I gotta go play now. You can leave." It was so much better than his crying of the week before, that I was already back to my car before I even realized it had happened.
About half the time lately, that's his M-O. Running away. Testing how far we'll let him go before we come chasing after. Coyly looking over his shoulder to make sure we're still there, but then completely ignoring us. Heading exactly for the one thing he can't have or to the one place he's not allowed to go.
But the other half of the time, he's still my baby. Wanting to be held while I'm cooking dinner. Insisting on having his back patted as he sighs off to sleep. Wailing for his "ba-a-a-a-baaaa!" like we've murdered his best friend by insisting on no b-o-t-t-l-e-s of m-i-l-k before 5 a.m.
In any given moment, I can never decide whether his antics are fascinating or exhausting. It's like being chased by a tiger--beautiful, yes, but there isn't much time to stop and contemplate the lithe movement of its legs or the gorgeous pattern of its stripes.
(And speaking of the Kid--a couple of fun mentions of his room this week! First, it was a featured room on Apartment Therapy. Second, his room is also on Bedstart, a new website that's going to be completely devoted to floor beds. Hope you'll go have a looksie!)