Bean woke up grumpy, even more so because he's been sick. He ran to me and we snuggled. I kissed his newly shorn head, softly brushing the stray hairs the clippers missed last night. My little guy's face seemed more angular and grown up--that's why I put off cutting his hair. Every time I do it's as if he goes through another phase of babyhood, never to return. I cherish these times with my baby, because I can't call him one much longer.
As we snuggled, I reveled in the sweetness of the moment (and tried to ignore his morning breath). I gazed into his beautiful blue eyes and asked him, "Do you love Mommy?" (I tell him all the time, but it's so sweet to hear him say it.)
"No," he said. Everything has pretty much been "no" lately, even when he means "yes."
My eldest sat on the couch across from us, so I inclined my head his direction and asked Bean, "Do you love Professor?"
"No." Not even a moment's hesitation.
I decided to try a different tactic. "Do you love ice cream?"
His eyes lit up. "YES! I wuv ice cweam!"
We snuggled some more, then I decided it was time for breakfast. Strangely, he didn't want anything I offered. Usually he demands his red bowl, as he loves all things scarlet and vermilion. I was baffled as to why he was refusing everything, until he came out with two words: "ice cweam." I admit, had I any ice cream in the house, I would have been sorely tempted.
Bean had his short fit, then settled on a piece of whole grain rye bread for breakfast.
Thanks to him and my slightly sore throat, I want ice cream. Rocky Road, to be exact. This afternoon, I think a trip to the grocery store is in order . . . for the baby. Yep, ice cream for the baby.