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05:46 am: Mr. Bossy Boots*
Teddy has very strong opinions and very specific wishes, and he does not hesitate to express them. If his ability to express them were as strong as the desires, I'd be spending most of my time deciding whether to cater to his whims. The disparity allows me a reprieve (however slight).

The budding artist requires just the right canvas, for instance. In the bathtub, he directs me to draw buses, cats, elephants, and noses (mostly buses, of course) so that he can scribble all over them in just that... no, that... wait... THAT color.

He is no longer content to stop nursing, sit up, and arrange my hair to his liking. Now he stops nursing and directs me to arrange my hair to his liking.

Yesterday as we were dressing, he became quite agitated, pointing at my sweatshirt (which was hanging from the curtain bracket, en route to the closet). I took it down and gave it to him, but that. was. not. RIGHT. I hung it back up. That. was. all. WRONG. I put it on. That was juuust right.

My son: Goldilocks.

* This title courtesy of The Xanadu Talisman, a Modesty Blaise book in which the nanny to the criminal twins known as El Mico brings one down a peg by calling him Mr. Bossy Boots. I'm not completely without a sense of irony.

Current Location: Boston
Current Mood: aggravatedslightly put upon
Current Music: something by Springsteen, of course
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