It had to happen. At 21 months, Henry has pretty much dropped his naps altogether. (He’s only napped twice in the past 2 weeks.) Thankfully he seems to have snapped out of that rough post-travel/post-sick/post-molars snap that left him unable to be in his room alone. Once again I can nurse him, put him in his crib, and close the door. He knows this is rest time, and he usually reads books, sings, or just talks. Then I get him up, we have snack, and go about the rest of our day.
Well today his singing was particularly joyous. He was singing about the vacuum, the broom, and the iron. The balloon, the balloon in the sky. Riley, Riley barking, Riley’s kisses that tickle. The big truck that is loud. And the vacuum, the broom, and the iron again. As I opened the door, a diaper and shirt came flying at my face. Henry was buck naked, laughing, and running circles around his crib. He managed to sidestep the sizeable wet spot, smack in the middle of the bed. And I smiled, knowing he is *my* son.