Mercy Me

Hard to believe, but the boy's turned three. I'm considering changing his online name from Mowgli, though it still has its apt points, to Yossarian. He falls in love like a Yossarian.

And he is three. He is three all over the place. His way is always best, and he's a contrary little cuss much of the time. This would be fascinating if it were not so annoying and exhausting. He's such a little PERSON, which is funny for a little fellow who is determined to be a baby elephant when he grows up. His toys pretend to be other toys; he pretends to be Peso the Medic from the Octonauts; he goes hiking with me and is determined to climb up and down "rocky cliffs" of fully half his height.

As far as his eating habits go, his fondness for ice cream and donuts is balanced halfway decently by his fondness for avocado, dried apricots, and broccoli, that last because he can pretend he is a giraffe while he eats it. He's still not crazy for most meats, but we can make up for that with dairy things and peanut butter. Luckily that last is not a brand recently recalled!

He's interested in planets, bugs, and anything with wheels. He's interested in robots. He's interested in how the world looks through his magnifying glass. He is not interested in toilet training. He mostly shares his toys and he flirts with little girls in pink. Mommy is tired, but generally delighted. When we're not fighting.