Once more now, with should-haves

More than two years. That's how long it has taken me to come to somewhat peaceful terms with Fly and his PDD-NOS diagnosis. Pervasive Development Disorder Not Otherwise Specified. So, he has autism but it doesn't fit the typical autism mold. So mild, the diagnosing physician told JP and me, that in a few years no one would probably know.

I think Fly is at that point now. After finding out about multiple food allergies (typical of people on the spectrum), learning from a DAN doctor, behavior therapy, two years of going to occupational therapy twice a week and trying different tactics with Fly to see what works -- here we are.

We were told not to tell anyone because he would probably outgrow it. A couple other doctors we worked with later said they didn't think he would outgrow his main issues, but some of his challenges could be overcome.

Depending on which day you would see Fly, you would think he is a regular five-year-old boy or a kid with severe ADHD who has vocal stims and meltdowns and no impulse control.

And we don't medicate.

And so we live on the edge, literally. We aren't special-needs enough for the special needs community, but we aren't normal enough for the rest of the world.

A very frustrating edge to live on.

I have learned so much the past two years. I wish I could have blogged about our journey. But when I came to write, I just couldn't do it.

It was too painful.

And I'm pretty sure I've lost most of my sense of humor.

Having a child with Fly's challenges was so consuming, and yet I couldn't write about it. (And that doctor had said not to go around telling people because he is so mild...so I couldn't talk about it, either. Most of my real-life friends don't even know.) I have been frank and honest on this blog, and not being able to share what was really going on ... it shut part of me down.

I wish I could have blogged about the shame I felt when Fly was kicked out of soccer. When he was told not to come back to preschool. When finally, after a year of potty training, he could go on his own after treating him for a yeast infection in his digestive tract that we didn't know about. When I was judged by other parents for his public meltdowns. When he hit or bit other children. When he went through testing. Again. And again. When we found a lovely new school for him. When we started seeing breakthroughs. When friends started avoiding us. When a psychologist told us she couldn't see us any more unless we gave Fly medication -- which we didn't. When I felt I myself needed medication to help me deal with it all. When I just lost it. So many stories I could have, and should have, shared.

And then there is the Junebug. Sweet, easygoing almost-three-year-old Bug who has had to put up with so much. He continues to bear the brunt of Fly's wrath and controlling ways, and doesn't get his share of attention or time. But he is happy and smart, and tough, and I look out for what's best for him despite having a brother with challenges.

This blog started out about raising a baby boy, and then another, and helping them grow the best I could. I don't know where to go from here, both with my life and with this blog. In life, Fly is set to go to a regular kindergarten in August after a summer at social skills day camp, and I am so afraid the kindergarten won't be able to handle him and turn him away. Bug will go to preschool a couple days a week, leaving me wondering "What's next" for my life as well. In this blog, well, I have a couple other blogs I am known for but where I don't write so honestly -- but I will always love this first blog and the good memories I have making my first blog friends and sharing stories with other moms.

So I may or may not blog here again.

Fly's story started out here as a baby yet to be born, and I know his story will continue despite any challenges or diagnosis or trouble he gets into. And I plan to be there with him, helping him and helping to heal him.

Challenges

Sometimes, I have trouble deciding if something is BS or if it's for real.

Like now. My current dilemma started in early January, when Fly went back to preschool after the Christmas break. But really, I guess, it started long before then.

His preschool teacher said by halfway through the school year, most kids have settled into the routine and what's expected of them. But not Fly. He doesn't want to participate in class. He knocks things on the floor on purpose. He won't sit down for story time. He hits his classmates. He goes to a religious school, and they won't take him to chapel anymore unless I go too because they can't handle him and he is too disruptive for the other kids. The teacher suggested he get tested by a free program run by the county school board. "Parent to parent," she said, "I would want to know if he has a developmental delay."

Fly? Developmentally delayed? The child who knows more about trains than anyone I know. Who keeps asking to learn to play the violin. Who uses four-syllable words on a regular basis.

And yet ... I recognized his impulsive and often out-of-control behavior.

Warily and wearily, I scheduled a testing appointment.

I also got great advice via Twitter from Jodifur, who had similar school conferences with her son. On her recommendation, I also got an appointment for Fly with a developmental pediatrician.

I even had food allergy tests run for Fly.

These appointments have taken us on a bumpy, frustrating, time-consuming and expensive ride through the first quarter of this year to where we are now. Which, well, frankly, I don't know where exactly we are.

The school board testing, in my opinion, was a joke, and I told the preschool that. They thought that was "interesting" and said they wanted to "chat more" about why I was so unimpressed with the program.

The developmental pediatrician was more helpful but very stern and very expensive. But at least, that route led us to occupational therapy, where Fly has been diagnosed with a sensory processing or sensory integration disorder and low muscle tone -- reasons, or excuses, for why he rarely remains still, why he can't hold a crayon and color for more than three seconds, and why he's so uncoordinated that he is always running into things, tripping on his own feet and can't pedal a tricycle yet.

I get that Fly "has challenges." I have blogged before about his intense, high-need, high-energy personality, which he has had since he was a baby. It's not uncommon for people to tell me, "Boy, I thought my kid had a lot of energy, but yours has even more!" This afternoon after quiet time, Fly broke a toy and then hit the Bug and me with it. Twice. Even after timeout for the first time hitting. Then he hit JP at the dinner table, where he can't ever sit still. He can't follow multi-part directions. He asks the same questions repeatedly. He will argue with you and say or do the opposite thing you say just for the sake of doing so. I could go on.

But, big deal. Lots of kids -- normal, healthy kids -- could be described in these same ways, right?

As a mama, I am overwhelmed and bewildered at this array of doctors and therapists that has come into our lives.

I wonder how much of this is just Fly being an active three-year-old boy and how much is a real medical or developmental problem. Obviously, there are areas he needs to work on in the classroom and at home, but I can't believe that Fly is unique in having to work on certain areas -- surely every child has strengths and weaknesses, like adults. Part of me wants to think all the "experts" know what they are talking about, but part of me thinks it's a lot of mumbo-jumbo.

Does having a sensory processing diagnosis mean his teachers will be more understanding now that there is a reason, a label, attached to his seeming bad behavior? Will it be a great early-intervention tool to getting him on track and ready for kindergarten?

Or does a diagnosis mean that educators are too quick to put a stamp on a child and herd him through "the system" to get him to conform? Does it mean that as a parent I've fallen prey to some new-fangled notion that therapists have come up with for excusing bad or weird behavior?

I haven't decided which.

In any case, JP and I want Fly to do well, and the occupational therapy can't be bad for him, so we will try this out for a while and see how it goes. The therapist says after a few sessions, she will come up with things I can do with Fly at home that will help him -- she called it a "sensory diet" -- not food, but activities that will help him. She is also doing exercises that help him focus and help strengthen his muscles. I don't get how a kid who is constantly moving, who plays on the playground and takes soccer class has low muscle tone.

I don't get a lot of this.

But I want Fly to succeed and feel good about himself. I know beyond his sometimes almost-manic behavior and despite the days when he wants to hit everyone, Fly still has a kind and generous heart. He has a spooky-good memory and likes telling jokes (badly). He likes animals and can identify several species of birds. He enjoys music and asks me to sing songs with him, or play specific songs for him. He likes to give hugs. And get hugs.

To get right down to it, he's worth fighting for.

Blurry

Life is going by in a blur.



I know I am participating in it -- and time often creeps slowly toward naptime -- but it still seems life is taking us for a ride instead of us being in control.

It sometimes seems like too much work and not enough play time. But when we get down to the business of playing, we really play.



Fly is starting to differentiate among kids his age and prefer some over others -- he is making friends. Preschool is going great. His favorite subject? Digging in the sand.

The Bug is suddenly four months old. He is already teething, as his big brother Fly got his first teeth at four months. He takes everything in and rarely complains. It was about this time last year we knew he was on his way.

Now there are just two months left in the year, so I'm trying to hold onto every day because I know they will never be this small again and I don't want my memories to get blurry.



Scenic Route stamp by Scrap Girls, Refresh frame by Scrap Girls, Scrapping Sisters word art


Halloween Show kit by Digiscrapbooking.ch, Digi-Designs by Nicole frame

I'd like to say I've been a bad blogger because I'm spending my time being a better mother. But that's not true.

OK, it's true that I'm trying to be a better mother. And it's true that Fly's third-birthday party knocked the wind out of me. (I'm such a rookie at this birthday-party business. I invited everyone I know who has a child. It was such a huge party that I was jokingly calling it the social event of the season for our county's preschoolers.) And it's true that after the party, Fly got sick and passed the cold onto Junebug, and when I got it, I almost wished I would just die already. We all still have a yucky cough.

But I am a bad blogger too.

Anyway, I know no one wants to hear me ramble about stupid excuses, so here are some photos, which, if anyone is still coming to this blog looking for new content, is all you probably wanted to see anyway.

Fly's preschool photo


Um, yeah.

Cuteness



One of Bug's first really big smiles



More matching outfits



Fly at his birthday party

P-p-preschool!

Everyone else does it, and I'm giving in to peer pressure: the standard photo-by-the-front-door picture of a kid on his first day of school.

Fly! In preschool!

Just a few weeks shy of his 3rd birthday, Fly is going to school two days a week -- six hours total, really. His first day went perfectly. In fact, while I was handing off his snack bag and diapers (still not potty trained, ugh) with one of the teachers by the door to his room, he slipped in without me noticing. And then it was too late for me to take another picture or even say goodbye. Something about no clingy parents inside the school.

One day, you're carrying a child everywhere you go, and the next he's ambling into a preschool room without you even noticing. Gah! I didn't get to savor the moment.

But I didn't cry. No, I'm not emotional over the thought of Fly growing up and moving on. (Although he better not love his teacher more. I already consider her The Other Woman.) Maybe I'm a weird mother, but I am excited for him. And a little jealous. After looking at the daily schedule the teacher handed out, detailing everything from story time to water table play to music class to bathroom breaks right down to the minute, I kind of wish it was me going to preschool. It's a great gig. I want to play all day with super-cute little people!

Oh. Wait. I guess I kind of do that already. Except, you know, laundry and meal planning and dealing with home repairs and changing diapers and stuff.

While Fly is in school, I'll be playing with my little Junebug. Because soon enough, he'll be the one trotting off to The Other Woman when I'm not looking.

(Find me over at my new blog.)

I guess I am THAT mom

The kind of mom who thinks it's fun to dress her kids the same. Sigh. I know it's probably tacky, but I just couldn't help myself. It's just for a little while, before Fly starts getting all independent-like and demanding to wear only certain outfits. (Right now, he doesn't care what I put on him.) I mean, it's just a couple of shirt, right? And they have to wear clothes anyway. It's not like I dress the boys the same every day.

Yes, I sound exactly like a person in denial.

Someone please tell me this is completely within my realm.

Or direct me to good group therapy.

I Love You for Sentimental Reasons

Fly last fall; MissVivi quick page

When I started Growing A Life two and a half years ago, there was no way I could have imagined I would be where I am now -- that the blog would be where it is now. I didn't imagine the friends I would make, the tears of sadness or hysterics you would make me cry, the way I would feel like a better mother for spending time online consuming everything you've written about teething, breastfeeding, tantrums, making sacrifices, watching your babies sleep and falling in love with them every day in a million ways. Blogging -- mainly reading your blogs -- has been a lifesaver and something that keeps me going especially on days when nothing good seems to be happening or when nothing seems to please my high-energy, strong-willed but kind-hearted Fly.

As he grew more independent, last year I started another parenting blog more about our region of the world, as many of you know. (Hi, dual readers!) It has been great to have another place to write about being a mama, Fly's antics or just everyday life. That blog has surprisingly taken on a life of its own, earning me a "Blog of the Day" award from my local newspaper and especially the Nickelodeon Parent's Picks Awards nomination for our region.

Blogging here and there has been fun but also challenging. It's been hard to keep up with who knows me from which blog, how frequently have I posted where and what I said where. I know I've confused more than one of you with my split blog personality. With my baby coming less than a month from now, I know I will want to give him or her -- and JP and Fly -- my attention and not just sit at the computer. That wouldn't make for good blogging anyway.

So I decided Growing A Life will be my more personal blog -- which it already is. I probably won't post as often, but this is where I'll have baby pictures! And Fly photos! And more private news to share. So this blog isn't going anywhere. I'm too sentimental to banish my first love.

If you want to follow me to the other blog, though, I'd be so happy. Hope you'll stop by.

Home

Before the rain started up and kept on going right into the night, Fly and I went outside to plant a few flowers. He picked them out himself at the nursery -- red salvias, good for attracting butterflies. Excellent choice.

I asked him if he wanted to plant the flowers with me, and he happily followed me outside. I told him we had to dig holes in the dirt to put the flowers in. Fly chose a gardening tool and began to dig in the dirt near me. He uncovered some kind of larva, which scuttled away -- he wanted me to help him "rescue" the bug, and before long we couldn't see the dirt-loving creature anymore.

Digging a few holes was slow going for me. At 36 weeks now, it's hard for me to bend over for long periods of time. And it was hot. I'd dig for a while, stand up, wipe my brow, ask Fly how his digging was going and talk to him about plants. He got impatient and abandoned our effort. He looked for sticks, picked up fallen leaves, wanted to play with the children next door and was sad when they made only a brief appearance outside to get in their car and go somewhere with their mom.

"I want a different home," Fly said suddenly.

"You want a different home?" I asked. When I'm not sure what Fly is saying, I usually repeat it to make sure I understand him.

"I want that home over there," he said, pointing to the one next door where four children live. The family moved in about six months ago, found mold throughout the house and basically had to reconstruct it from scratch, top to bottom, inside and out. So basically, their house is brand new and looks amazing. Everyone is super nice, but we haven't really gotten to know the new neighbors yet.

Planting a few red flowers in the front yard -- and feeling I was doing a pretty lame job at that -- I felt sad Fly wanted a different home despite trying to make ours the best we can. I wanted to stop my digging and planting because I knew a few flowers couldn't measure up to a beautiful home full of children. And dogs.

It doesn't help that for weeks Fly has been saying, "I want to go home." When we are already home. When he is in his room -- when he is in his bed. How could you be any more at home than when you are in your own bed?

I know he's only two and a half and still learning to put together his thoughts and express himself through language, but it makes me worry. It makes me feel inadequate as a mother. How have I failed to provide Fly with the feeling of having a home and being home? What is he missing that makes him want to "be home" or have a different home? What will he think when the baby arrives and turns our home tospy-turvy for a while?

Fly didn't want to help me put the flowers in the holes once I had dug them, didn't want to help water them as he usually would and he seemed relieved to finally go back inside when we were done.

I was relieved, too, to leave the flowers outside in their own new home -- but wondered if they would be as unsatisfied as Fly seems to be.

Haircut -- THE haircut

This was my little boy yesterday.



When he had cute little surfer-boy hair trimmed by me only a few times.



I know he needed a real haircut, though. Even though he was quite unhappy about it.



Quite unhappy.



Unfortunately, the stylist didn't speak English as a first language, and I'm not sure she understood what I wanted. But I am sure I've seen this haircut on middle-aged women -- full on top, tapered on the bottom.



Hair grows back, right?

A more simple joy

Artist's self-portrait

As I reflect on the past week and the simple joys it brought, I find I am still amazed at this little boy who wasn't even a being three years ago. There was no child in our house for almost 12 years, and then he appeared "from a little dust and a little rain."

And it's going to happen again, next month -- a baby born out of a miracle, out of love.

I feel guilty on the days I am too tired or sick or achy or pregnant to play with Fly the way he deserves. But I'm thankful for days when I have the energy to do fun things with him.


Splash!

I feel guilty for not blogging or reading blogs because I just can't, but then I remind myself, once again, this is supposed to be fun and not another chore hanging over my head.

So I take whatever I can get out of each day, and go with that. Each day is a blessing, and you can't get a more simple joy than that.

Look -- something shiny!

In the hopes of distracting you from realizing how neglectful I've been of this blog ... oh, darn! It's too late, you say? Eh. Great. Oh well. I can't even call this a reward for reading so faithfully. So this isn't a distraction, and it's not a reward. But it's something.



Please excuse my messy office and stupid voice.

Full-on ramble

- I can't seem to find a quarter of the things on my list when I go to a store lately. Not just food shopping, but places like Target or the craft store. I'm not looking for hard-to-find items. Has the recession made stores stop carrying stuff? I guess we'll know when people start fighting over the last package of toilet paper (er, "bathroom tissue" if you're fancy).

- My health insurance company asked me to enroll in a healthy-pregnancy program that would give me access to a nurse on the phone around the clock. It sounded good until they kept calling and leaving messages, and then when I would return the calls and be on hold for three minutes, I'd hang up. And the process would start over again. When I actually got to talk to someone to find out what they wanted, it was a guy asking me questions about very private parts, and I told him I wanted out of the program. Two weeks later, they sent me a $50 gift card and a guidebook to pregnancy. I hurried and spent the money before they realized what had happened . . . .

- Related to that, I am running out of patience lately. Or at least, I don't seem to have a great tolerance for Fly's shenanigans. The past few days of terrible-two behavior have had me greatly stressing. And I had myself a little meltdown yesterday. JP was there for me. He came home early and told me to get out of the house for a little while. I love him. Marriage definitely has its perks. He didn't even blink when I told him I'd send him a postcard.

- By the way, does anyone know how to get a two-and-a-half-year-old to listen and do what he's told?

- Specifically, not to run away from me and make me chase him and then carry him bodily back to where he needs to be? My pregnant body just isn't up for that anymore. This is how fast I have to run to catch up to him:



- And because today is Take Your Child to Work Day, I think it would be a splendid idea for JP to do just that.

- A friend told me crushed Cap'n Crunch cereal was good to coat chicken with before you bake it. Another friend said wheat germ was good too. So I bought both. Guess which one I've already had two bowls full of?

- Speaking of Cap'n Crunch, have you looked at the box lately? Doesn't it seem as though the company has "Sponge Bob-ized" the look of all the characters? Everyone looks stark raving mad.

- I am thinking about getting my hair cut. As in, seriously shortened. I've had short hair three times in my life. See my blog header? My hair isn't that long. But it has been. However, I just don't have time for it. Or patience. (See above.) And when the baby comes, it will probably look like a rat's nest unless I cut it to a length I can maintain because it is inhumanely thick (I get it thinned once or twice a year) and curly (but not in a good way). I just do not want to turn my hair into a hobby.

- So what's a good style for a hexagon-shaped face?

- We were going to go away this weekend to use tickets to a water theme park we bought before the Junebug came into being. Now we have about a month to use the tickets before they expire, and I am forbidden from going down any water slides while pregnant even though it is one of the most fun things to do in the world. (Yes, I am 11 years old.) Our plan was to drive there Friday night, play in the water on Saturday and come home Sunday. But we had to buy a new water heater unexpectedly. And a car-repair bill cost about 40% more than estimated. Now our dishwasher is broken. And we have to pay the doula. So two nights at a hotel would be financially irresponsible. If I could just talk JP into driving there and back on the same day, then we wouldn't need a hotel . . . .

- Actually, it might be easier to talk myself out of thinking it would be fun to heft my big, lazy body around a place where a bunch of skinny people were walking around and having a great time on the water slides. ("That should be me . . . sob!") Yeah, maybe not the best way to spend a Saturday.

Working at the car wash

(Turns out I'm not the only one with a kid drawn to buckets the moment you're looking the other way.)

Paper and sign by Baers Garten. Photo mask by Kylie M Designs. Bubbles by Kristin Aagard. Alpha by Ziggle.

Talk about talk

Believe it or not, at one time in my life, I considered studying for an advanced degree in linguistics. Language, semantics, alphabets and how people communicate have always fascinated me.

I'm also fascinated by chocolate. But . . . you know.

At the time, though, it seemed options for linguistics people were teaching (on a community college or university level) or research (images of teaching sign language to gorillas came to mind). Neither path was my cuppa joe.

But later, I realized linguistics researchers also study how children learn language. And that did grab my attention.

Even before I considered becoming a mom, I enjoyed talking with toddlers and preschoolers. The way they speak is so free -- they don't know all the language rules, they haven't learned the words for everything and they aren't constrained by colloquialisms. They usually don't even know what's appropriate to say. Their whole thought process for getting across what they want to express is unhindered by the language conventions we learn as we get older. That kind of freedom of mind and tongue is amazing to think about. Here are people who communicate from their own unique, brand-new, fresh perspective on the world.

Today is the first day I realized Fly is really and truly talking. Not just a few phrases he has learned. Not just yes-or-no answers to my questions. Not just to say the alphabet, count, or point out shapes or colors. Fly formulates his own ideas, asks questions, tells me what he wants (or more likely, what he doesn't want) and narrates what he is doing.

Fly is talking!



Not only is my munchkin now a walking, talking child I can have an actual conversation with, but I get to experience that freedom of mind and tongue I so admire.

I feel so lucky.

And yet . . . .

My adult mind is already wondering how I'm going to put up with constant little-people chatter!

At the egg hunt

Made with Scrap Girls frames, Ellie Lash splatter and eggs, word art and ribbon unknown

Good yummy

It's been a few weeks -- I've lost count, not wanting to count -- since you nursed. You held on for a long time, my boy. You wanted that comfort only mama can give you as you fell asleep -- the holding, the contact and the precious food that was too good to be called simply "milk," so it had to be called "yummy." Good yummy. Our own special term.

But it was time. Even as you nursed, you thrashed, you bit, you slapped. I think that meant even you knew you were done nursing, even if you didn't want to totally give it up. My breasts already tender from carrying your soon-to-be sibling, it was your biting that made the decision for me: no more good yummy.

I thought you were going to wean much sooner. Many people probably assumed you were already weaned. But you held on.

And when you asked for your yummy at night and naptime, I had to turn you away -- tearfully at first, then with logic you probably don't possess and then with gentle cajoling. Eventually, you just stopped asking. Now, you haven't asked in weeks.

You are weaned.

I know you must understand by now that I am so much more to you than just my breasts. Tomorrow, you will turn two and a half, and you really don't need them anymore. They might have needed you, but they're now looking forward to nourishing a new life soon.

And even though you don't have mama's good yummy anymore, I wish you all the good yummy that your life will bring you -- whatever in life sustains you, comforts you and fills you up.

Popcorn!

Manda Girl template, Scrap Girls papers and elements, Digital-Crea paper

Today's magic

It's the end of the day, and I almost don't want this day to end. There was just something magical about today and how Fly and I related to each other.

It wasn't that he didn't misbehave. But Fly did actually listen to me today. It probably helps that he is speaking more in real sentences now.

Fly seemed unusually contented. He sang songs with me while we waited in line at the store. He pointed out all the red lights, green lights and yellow lights as we drove in the car. Fly ate plenty at lunch. Then he patiently (!) waited for me to clean up afterward so we could play outside -- for an hour. He napped without a fight. He read some word cards. Fly even tried two new foods at dinner. He didn't want to go to bed tonight -- he wanted to stay up and sing songs with me. But I put on some music for him to listen to while he fell asleep.

I know better than to expect Fly will be the same tomorrow. He is ever growing and changing. There are hardly two days alike for him. And that makes today's magic even more fleeting and sweet.

Viral

Fly had a virus last week, after we returned from the Bahamas, and we spent most of last week just basically doing nothing.

And it was so, so nice.

When we finally came out of our cave, I confessed to friend Guinevere I actually enjoyed Fly getting sick. She didn't flinch, wasn't shocked, didn't gape at me or carry her child away from my toxic presence. What a friend.

She understands that Fly getting sick meant he was by my side most of the day -- on my lap or in my arms for a hug, even -- he didn't act up and I got some much-needed rest, even though I had to get up with him in the middle of the night.

It was good to know I can still soothe my boy and that he still wants his mama to be there for him.

Big mean mama

Believe it or not, Fly isn't the most obedient two-year-old this world has ever seen. I know, you are shocked. The Fly you know is smart, charming and terminally cute. But he has a strong will. If you put him on the floor in the Capitol building when Democrats and Republicans are arguing, they will agree to anything if it means finally getting him out of the District of Columbia and not having to deal with him again.

Sometimes when he doesn't listen to me, I call his bluff. For example, when we come home from being somewhere, he doesn't want to come inside. He wants to sit in the driver's seat of my car and play with the controls, run down the street, see what's in the neighbor's yard, smell the other neighbor's flowers, check the mailbox and pick up stray sticks or leaves. But I might have to pee, or I might have heavy bags of groceries, and it's time to go inside right now. Fly doesn't understand right now (unless he wants a cookie). So I might go inside and close the door, watching him from there and hoping that gets his attention.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't.

Today, Fly didn't want to take a nap. But I knew he was tired. I told him it was time to sleep. I went to his room, hoping he would follow me. He didn't. I would have picked him up and carried him to his room, but I am in a phase when I am trying to get him to listen to me without intervening like that. (Hey, I can hear you! Stop laughing!) Ten minutes later, he showed up, when I grabbed him and sat him in my lap as usual for some songs and talking about our day so far. Fly hurled himself off my lap and onto the floor.

Because it had already been a tantrumy day, I'd had it. "You can put yourself to sleep!" I said, calling his bluff and and retreating to another room.

And that's exactly what he did.



And when I came back and saw him curled up on the floor, I felt like a big meanie.

I think I need a time-out.