The Boy

My Mom and I talk on the phone pretty much every morning one her way in to work. This was a conversation with my Mom the other morning:

Me: He's just like a cat! He gets in the one spot you don't want to get him in and squeezes in and you can't get him out and OH I just know he does it on purpose! Get out of there, Mommy doesn't want you over there. Don't step on the banana, don't step on the banana!! Oh man! He stepped on a chunk of banana!

Why are his hands in his mouth?!? Mom!!! What is it with the hands in the mouth? He is driving me crazy. Ohhh and they stink! His hands stink so bad because they're always in his mouth and the boy won't let me wash his hands. Good Lord you'd think I was pulling out his toenails when I make him wash his hands and I don't get it because he used to like washing his hands so much and you know, playing in the water. Now it's like this epic power struggle and it ends with tears and both of us and the bathroom floor soaking wet.

Wait. What?!? He's licking the couch!! HE.IS.LICKING.THE.COUCH. Stop licking the couch! Henry, stop licking the couch! Why would you do that? Why would you lick a couch?!?

My Mom: Oh honey.

My sweet little funny boy who keeps me running around and laughing all day is the same little boy who drives me nuts in tiny little fragments throughout the week.