Say Baby

He sidles up to me while I work, quiet-like, a sparkle in his slitty eyes.

“Say 'baby'!” He squeals, hugging my arm to his face and giggling. I look down at him and smile despite the interruption.

Eli and I have a running argument. I am trying to get him to give up the bottle. He is digging his heels in, attempting to delay the inevitable.

“You're not a baby anymore, you're a big boy,” I tell him. But he laughs up at me, both with his eyes and his triangular smile, while he squashes his nose into the soft part of my arm, breathing. With big snuffling noises and little growling sounds, he continues to look up at me sideways, wriggling like a frisky puppy, “say 'baby',” he urges.

It is times like these I am hard pressed at denying the very baby-hood of him: the chubby cheeks, the soft plump limbs, the remaining infant scent, and the special sweetness he employs to get his way.

“Mommy! Mommy!” He chirrups.

“Pet-a-poo! Pet-a-poo!” I reply.

But at night, just before bed, when he asks, “Peas...gimme...miiik...”

I tell him: “'Pet, you're a big boy. Big boys don't drink from the bottle.”

He runs to his cupboard and hands me one of his empties, “Miiiiik!” He yells mutinously, “MIIIIIIK!”

And after he drinks his fill, he crawls over to where I am frowning at him in disapproval. “Miss-you, Mommy!” he sing-songs placatingly, “say 'baby'!”

I am tempted to keep the status quo, just to have more of his hugs and squeals and sweet clingy softness, but there is his mouthful of teeth to consider, and I am sorely torn.

In the morning, he reaches over from his bed to feel for my arm, “'morning, Mommy....miss-you! Say 'baby'...”

I look down at him, and he is still half-asleep, but there is a quarter of a smile on his face where the morning sun is beaming, and his fat sausage fingers clutch at my arm as if never wanting to let go.

And neither can I.

Chokehold Hugs and Razor Kisses

Tell me, honestly...would you yell at your 10-month old baby?

How would you when he greets you each night as you come home from work like you're the dearly beloved one that he hasn't seen in years. The delighted screams, the excited gurgles...oh, and the wonderfully asphyxiating way he latches on to your neck with both sausage arms...and the sweetly saturated smooches he slobbers upon your cheeks and your chin,

"Um-bwuh, um-bwuh, um-bwuh!"

he goes. And wouldn't you just know it, his passionate nature suddenly kicks in and he decides to kiss you open-mouthed, with teeth - all three of them.

It is at this point that you recoil in pain and try to disengage yourself from Mr. Sucky-face, and you go

"Owww! No, Eli. No biting. Biting hurts."

pro-forma, according to all the parenting advise you've read in dozens of baby books both in print and on-line.

But does this razor-toothed eel get it? Noooooooo. He rears his head back and lets out a throaty giggle, making your heart melt, just before he plunges back down and goes to work on your ear.

"OWWWWW! Eli, stop that. No biting. Please."

"Eh-hek-e-hek-hek-hek! Eeeeee! Um-bwuh, um-bwuh, um-bwwwwuh!"

So tell me, would you yell?

Too sharp for words

Even as you lie in bed at night with an uncomfortably twisted head, because he is nose-to-nose with you, milkily breathing into your face while

choking

hugging your neck and grasping at your ear. Even as you go to work with an angry welt rising on your left cheek where he has ceremoniously bestowed another of his lovingly moist enamel-tipped kisses (while the officemates loudly speculate about the passionate night you must have spent with the husband - lucky, lucky you - and quietly, shamefacedly, you let them).

Attempting to tear Tatay's lips off

Even as you anticipate coming home after work, to behold your beloved biter in all his fat-cheeked fervor, and to begin the jagged-edged welcome home ritual, over and over again.

Tell me...would you yell?