So, once again, my little guy tells me how to be the mommy. I had about a half an hour of screaming baby this afternoon. Wait, make that SCREAMING BABY!!!!!!! I could not make him happy. He didn't seem hot or cold, he'd just eaten less than two hours ago (he generally gets hungry every 3 1/2 to 4 hours these days), his diaper was clean, I tried toys, tummy time, holding him, rocking him, etc. etc. Nothing would work. Finally, in a last ditch effort to retain my sanity, I went ahead and made him another bottle. He took three ounces and once again became the sweet adorable little boy I'm accustomed to. Just like that, he decided that instead of six ounce feedings, henceforth we shall make available to his highness a whopping eight ounces of formula at a time. Tum ta da dum (fanfare)!!The diminutive dictator has spoken!! (In a manner of speaking.)
He really has gotten good at letting us know when he likes or dislikes something. When we don't hand him the right toy, or hold him the right way, or keep his favorite magazine in the john, he suddenly turns green and bursts out of his shirt sleeves, roaring his displeasure at us. As soon as the problem is rectified, he regains his normal size and adorable demeanor, and smiles so sweetly that little birdies alight on his shoulder and we can hear strains of Grieg's "Morning" floating down from above. One day maybe we'll convince him that he's not the boss of us, and dadgummit, we're bigger than him. Yeah right.