Cuddlebum

The night before last I was lying in bed, thinking about this post. It had occurred to me that Wiggle Man cuddles me almost the exact way he did as a newborn...except, of course, he's much bigger now. But the position is much the same: head on my chest (or shoulder, now that he's taller), arms tucked under, my arm under his bum.

This picture doesn't quite show how he cuddled; I'm not sure if I had him turned for the camera, or what the deal was. It's also a great shot of how I looked before I stopped nursing and the nasty hormones decided to bloat me up. Lovely things, those hormones.




Well, I got all nostalgic thinking about my big boy, and how he's still my cuddlebum, but only when he's tired.

Aww.

Then, as if sensing my nostalgia, he spent yesterday "cooking" all over his bedroom and the kitchen. Remember this? Well, apparently Wiggle Man got a hold of the pepper shaker, managed to open it, and sprinkled pepper everywhere. I'm not exaggerating, either. It was on his bed, his pillow, his train table, his easel, his books, his toys, and literally coating the kitchen table.

Proud of how I'm learning to deal with these little interruptions that life with a toddler brings, I calmly (no, seriously) vacuumed it up, having Wiggle Man help when appropriate. (I know. I'm so...supermom.) <---sarcasm alert.

Anyway, a few short hours later I sat at the piano. I looked down to see someone (read: Wiggle Man) had decided to decorate the laminate floor. With pencil scribbles. A lot of them.

Let's just say God is giving me ample opportunities to practise patience. And I sure need the practise. Now, let me go see what the little dear is up to--I hear thuds coming from the piano room.