A Change of Tune

Just like his cousin, the Best Nephew Ever, Colin has found his thumb. Truly, it happened just as we moved to bottles, like he was proving to me and the world that he’s all grown up now, thanks, and doesn’t need anybody else for anything. He doesn’t need me for food or for a pacifier; he can just take care of himself. Well, someone will have to prepare the bottle, of course. But it’s more that that task is servant stuff rather than something that he can’t do himself. He could do it though, he just doesn’t want to.

Since he no longer nurses, he now mostly refuses to be held like a baby in the crook of my arm, preferring instead to sit up on my hip and look around at what else is happening. This terrifies me. Not because I am afraid of what will happen, like hitting his head or slipping. No, I am terrified of what this symbolizes. This means that he will be just like me. Independent and bothersome and pushy. Even feeding him a bottle is an exercise in frustration. He clearly tells me that he’s hungry, which is great. Then he tells me to hurry up already and fix the damn bottle. Okay, good. I’m glad we’re on the same page. Then, when I sit him up on my lap and tuck a bib under his chubby chin, he gets this greedy well-it’s-about-time look on his face. As he eats, his eyes glaze over and his hands caress mine. I forget that he was so bossy earlier and sing to him low, slow love songs. Then the bottle is empty and I take it out of his mouth. His content face becomes tense and wrinkled, his half-closed eyes fling open in accusation. He screams at me for taking away his bottle before he’s ready. It takes all kinds of cooing and snuggling to try an quiet him again, which mostly does not work. What helps is that he roots around until he finds his thumb. He spreads his four fingers across his face, closes his eyes, and drops off to sleep. I forget again what a grumpy bugger he was and can think only that he looks like an angel. Later, he gets hungry again and that usually jogs my memory.

I’ve talked before of the Fourth Trimester, the continuation of pregnancy into the first months of his life. Well, the party’s over, and by party, I mean all forms of pregnancy. We have an independent little person on our hands, no doubt about it.