An entire day spent projecting my own sleepiness onto the boy, with little success until 4:45 p.m., long past the safe window of naptime. [Hmmm... interesting - I start writing a post here and it feels like a pole goes immediately up my ass. What is my blogging style? Can it evolve?] He projecting his needs onto my day. I projecting my needs onto his. Who wins out in this game? Usually, he.
He is self-aware in that he knows when he needs soothing, sometimes gets into a posture of surrender to accept it. The diaper ointment tube has magical powers, or else tastes good to him, and it's the only thing that can induce him to allow me to have the privilege of changing him.
This morning I spied him playing with something under the table, and that something turned out to be a hardened pellet of poop that must have escaped his diaper before the morning change. I hope that was the only one, that there wasn't another one in his mouth for safekeeping. There must be a lot of valuable things in that mouth of his, he refuses to open it to show me. He smiles while he averts his face from my prying fingers, my imploring, "peek peek peek?"
How will I know when I am losing myself? How will I know when I find myself? I'm in the process of doing both.
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