I was trying to get him to put his pajamas on himself, but to no avail. I think he'll be getting dressing assistance into early adolescence. In the morning, it's "Rowan, put your shoes on."
"No! I'na baby."
"You're not a baby."
Then Lyla chimes in, sounding like she's talking to a five-pound labradoodle: "Oh my little buddy, Mr. Buddy man."
Tonight at bedtime he asked for binkies, and I reminded him that he sent them all away. Then I asked if he wanted water.
"No."
"Okay, well good--"
"I wan wa-da!"
Every time, the no and then the yes. I'm half tempted to get him out of that crib and into a toddler bed. Give him a little chair with a sippy cup on it. Not a baby now, sir. Your move.
But why would I rush? Why does any parent rush anything?
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