Childhood P&P 101

Little Bug must have recently gotten hold of a Policy and Procedures book on Childhood because he's suddenly gotten wise to a major childhood rule, namely

Avoid falling peacefully to sleep at all costs.

If you don't count all the bad nights of teething and growth spurts and illness (and I don't because I've mentally repressed most of them), Little Bug is a pretty easy going sleeper. He needs his routine, but when followed, he had always been a pretty willing participant.

Until now.

Suddenly the prospect of night night make Little Bug turn into the manic clown/demon/charmer. Sometimes he will just cry and throw a fit. Sometimes he will play coy and beg for us to lay with him, only to try to distract us from our lullabies with kisses and silly smiles. Sometimes he begs for another book, signing "read" while pointing pathetically to his book case. Sometimes he wants to play with his monkey from Korea (who is completely neglected any other time). Sometimes he will ask for another drink or Appa (or me if Appa is putting him down). Sometimes he insists on having the wooden engine and caboose of a decorative "choo choo" in bed with him, which he lazily rolls over his tummy while eyeballing it (and me) from the side.

It's gotten to the point where we've started placing bets on what stall tactic he will employ. Whether he'll opt for the flat out naked run from the bathroom to another room to hide or whether he'll bravely go into this own room, hop on his bed, and try his hand at the charm.

Sure, it adds 20-30 minutes to our nighttime routine, but it is secretly hilarious to watch this little tiny baby morph instinctively into a broody, manipulative, adorable, stubborn child.

Smile

Little Bro,

Tonight I saw your smile tonight for the first time in my entire life. I can't explain it fully, but seeing your smile made you so much more real to me. I saw a glimpse into your personality, your life, your essence.

It made me feel in love with you and miss you even more. I'm positive that in the years to come, I'll catch a glimpse of this particular smile and be brought back to this feeling of total awe I have every time I look at your picture tonight.

As It Should Be

In the back of my mind, in the tiny spot I try to keep shut up, I wondered how I would react when the number we had with our old agency came up; what I would feel when I saw the picture of the child that would have been ours had we kept to our original plan and not accepted Little Bro's referral. I'm not sure what exactly I was worried about feeling, but I was worried about my reaction. I feel guilty for going there, but I think it is probably a pretty natural curiosity.

Luckily, I'll never really know because more than one number came up yesterday, making it impossible to know for sure which child would have been matched to our family had our specific file still been in line.

But as for the pictures that I did see....I felt a whole lot of nadda. Sure, I was THRILLED for those families and totally enamored with their beautiful children, but that was all it was....reactions to their joy and THEIR sons. Perhaps I was secretly worried that I would see one of the pictures and think "Oh my God, that was supposed to be my son. I've made a huge mistake."

But of course, none of that came because I didn't make a huge mistake and those kids were not meant to be my son. The head trip your brain can take you on is nothing compared to the truth your heart can provide you. The feelings I had when I first saw Little Bro's picture were something rare and special and I knew it was right then, and I know it is right now.

Especially this morning when, out of the blue, a new picture showed up in my inbox. And the reaction that I was lacking when looking at the children of the other families....

Oh, it was there in SPADES when I saw my son's face again.

Worth It

I'm SO tired this morning. I crawled into bed at midnight only to find my TWO boys tossing fitfully. I'm not sure what happened last night, but all three of us are worse for the wear this morning.

I'm double fisting DDP just to keep my eyes open.

But closing a restaurant down (as usual) with some of my favorite gals on our girls night out was worth every single 29-flavor drop I need injected into my veins this morning.

It's awesome to be a mama, but sometimes it is awesome to be just "me" again for a few hours...especially the sangria drinking version of me.

11:11

I'm now a believer. A true disciple of the clearly solid childhood myth.

I wrote a while back about my quirky habit of always wishing on an 11:11 when I see one on a clock. Today I looked at my computer clock just in time to see 11:11 and made a wish.

Then, at that very moment....

Ding.

That would be the ding of my e-mail...

Growing a Pair

Sometimes I err so far on the side of caution to not inconvenience someone that I end up driving myself wild. One little e-mail could clear it all up, but NOOOOOOO, I would prefer to suffer in anxious anticipation/worry for a full week instead of putting myself out there just a teeny, tiny bit. This in turn makes poor Appa have to suffer through my "suffering." Trust me, I am not a pretty sufferer.

So today, after two DDPs and one too many e-mail dings from a social networking site that was most definitely not my SW sending me an update on Little Bro, I grew a pair and sent off a polite, one line e-mail just asking if she had anything for me.

I feel a bit better now. Either way she answers, I'll soon be able to stand my e-mail dinging without going into nervous twitches.

And that is a good thing, because I am not a pretty e-mail twitcher, either.

The Sideways

Last night, after a really weird afternoon that culminated in a 2-hour high fever, Little Bug went down without a fight and Appa and I settled in to watch a ridiculously long series finale and get some freaking questions answered.

2 hours went by....still waiting for answers. 2 hours 10 minutes went by....just . starting . to . get . . to . the . point...

Pitter patter, pitter patter.
Door open.
"What's up, Mama and Dada?"

Oh, HELL no.

Appa paused the show, and I corralled Little Bug back into his room, letting him know that it was, for sure, not play time. Or, at least, I thought I made myself clear, but apparently not.

What happened from that point on is a case of a parenting alternate "sideways reality." The textbook situation that somehow spirals out of control, with your normal routine slipping away from you and replaced with a world where 2 year olds are wide awake and ready to be loving life at Midnight.

So, Appa finally knocked on the door and uttered the most ridiculous proposal...one that made total sense in this sideways reality. Let's bring our kid down to join the fun, finish the last 20 minutes of our show, and then end this party with a family cosleep.

Maybe we could even fly a crashed plane off a beach....you know, just for kicks.

So, as I watched the final seconds of my questions not being answered (but still satisfied anyway), I looked over and watched my son laughing his head off as he sat between Appa and I, bright-eyed and pleased as can be to be hanging with us at 1 am. I wasn't exactly sure how we got to this point and were okay with it, and I half expected a smoke monster to come slithering by, but I got this sense that this sideway reality wasn't so bad. It's nice to enjoy special, out of the ordinary moments with those you love. Especially those moments that are born from breaking sacred parenting rules simply for the sake of enjoying the smiles of your family.

But tonight, it's back to the island of normal bedtimes and boundaries.

A Good Day

I have decided the the measure of a good day is just how much dirt needs to be washed off at the end of the night...for the whole family.

If You're Happy and You Know It...

Little Bug,

Mama has had a bad week. You know this. I know this. Appa knows this. Pretty much any poor soul who has come in contact with Mama knows this. Yesterday I was determined to make myself be happy when I got home from work.

Thanks for doing for me.

That dance party you started, complete with your two new moves I like to call the "old man shuffle" and the "pop and lock," as well as your Bob Marley-inspired move we call the "peeing dog"...that was one rocking party. Those belly laughs of mine and my springing step as I did my "lame mama dance" were completely genuine. The fact that we did the whole thing in the rain made it even better.

You had me literally squealing for joy when I sang "Itsy Bitsy Spider" to you and, for the first time ever, you actually did all the hand movements with me. That was one proud (and shocked) mama you heard shouting praises in your face. Capping it off with a couple silly smiles and silly eyes...inspired.

You even made my heart smile a bit at 1 am this morning when you came into my bed, snuggled in, and then instead of whining, just gently grabbed my face to wake me up and tell me you needed a drink. The fact that you signed "thank you" (while saying "welcome" because we've confused you linguistically) and then went to sleep peacefully was the icing on my cake.

Today, instead of waking up with a pit in my stomach and an ache in my heart, I woke up happy to be your mama and thrilled to have the whole weekend to spend singing and dancing with you.

Thanks for making it easy, buggy.

Putting on the Game Face

The last few days have been stressful for me. I'm slammed at work. Appa was out of town. I'm overly anxious for an expected update on Little Bro. Things are completely stalled with Little Bro's adoption paperwork and the implications of the stall (and the lack of support from those whose help we sought) are heartbreaking. Yesterday I sat at my desk and cried.

I'm not a crying at work sort of gal.

The one thing that keeps running through my head is to put on my game face. I don't really see any other choice.

I have to put on my game face at work. I can't ruin my reputation of being even-headed and calm and professional over personal stress. And yes, the amount of work that fell in my lap this week is unholy. But I can either turn it into an opportunity to show that I can handle the pressure or I can turn into the girl that cries at her desk when things get tough.

Game face.

I have to put on my game face for Little Bro. Amid my heartbreak and frustration and fear over the stall in his paperwork, and more recently, my hurt, confusion, and sadness over the growing fissure of a relationship I had counted on to advocate and support our family through this process, I have to stay calm and get my questions answered in respectful, yet satisfactory way. I owe it to my son to do whatever it takes to make sure he is not waiting longer than absolutely necessary. Tears and anger are not going to get me anywhere.

Game face.

Most of all, I have to put my game face on for Little Bug. He doesn't care about my work, nor does he care about his brother's paperwork. All he cares about is that his mama is there to play with him after being away all day. That she is there to laugh at his new dance moves, sing his favorite songs to him, and play our new favorite game, "silly eyes." Over the last few days, I've caught myself frowning as I mull over all the stressors I'm dealing with. I catch his eye and see him falter, confused as to why I'm unhappy with him. He's way too young to know anything of stress or to understand why I might be stressed. All he knows is what he senses and sees from me.

Game face.

The Bob

This morning my kid woke up on the wrong side of the universe. Usually a delightful morning person, this morning he whined and grumped and insisted on being held....while I did my hair, while I brushed my teeth, while I got dressed. The thing was, when I was holding him, he was STILL being a pill.

The only thing that made him happy was wearing one of his bibs (or bob, as it is called in his world), specifically a dirty bib he found. I let him wear it around for a while and decided to allow him to wear it in the car on the way to school after his head almost exploded when I tried to take it off to put his coat on. He seemed mildly pleased to be wearing it in the car...until I tried to take it off him before we got out.

Long story short, he wore the bob into school.

I thought for sure I could get it off him at school while he was distracted. Instead, he took his little hands and held it close to his body, cooing "bob, bob, bob." Finally, because I was mortified that it was dirty, 15 minutes late for work, and rapidly being surrounded by other kids who wanted to wear bibs and eat food, I yanked it off him and promised he could wear another bib soon. I shoved it into my fist, kissed the top of his spinning head, and literally ran out the door.

He's probably still on the ground screaming.....

What was I to do? On one hand, I try to go with the flow. If he wants to wear a bib into school, heck, why not? On the other hand, it was dirty, and the other kids would have gone hysterical en-mass all wanting to wear bibs and eat. The teachers would have loved that. I think a compromise is reasonable.

Perhaps on a day when my bob-loving kid wakes up in his right mind, he will agree.

The Closet Co-Sleepers

Appa and I are not raising a co-sleeping family. We think everyone wins when everyone has their own sleeping space. That is what works for our family.

With that being said, we occasionally have brought Little Bug into our bed when he needs some extra loving. Sometimes he cuddles right in and falls into a deep sleep, and sometimes he thinks it is party time and ushers in some of the darkest, most frustrating hours of our week. Things are definitely LESS cute at 3:45 am. NO amount of silly smiles changes that truth.

When we transitioned him into the big boy bed recently, I thought we would have a lot of evenings where we would put him back in his bed throughout the night. Indeed, it started out that way, but it has now morphed into what I think might be the future of our family for some time to come.

The Closet Co-Sleeping family.

Around 2 am, Little Bug wakes himself up and starts to cry. My ears perk up in anticipation of one of my favorite sounds in the world.

Thump
pitter patter...pitter patter
[Door Opening]
pitter Patter Pitter Patter PITTER PATTER

For some reason, the sound of my little jammie-clad baby booking it down the hallway in bare feet to find us is the cutest thing in the world at 2 am. I lay still and wait for his little face to pop up right next to my face and beg in a groaning, scratchy, sometimes still 3/4 asleep voice...."Mama, up. Mama, UPPPPPPPPPPP!"

So I pull him up and he snuggles in between Appa and I and almost immediately falls back asleep, alternating between cuddling into Appa and shoving his face right into mine, to the point that we are almost breathing in each others' mouths. Appa throws an arm lovingly over his son and rests it on my side. Even in my sleep-reduced mind (or maybe because of it), I always have this moment of clarity right then...that my little family is the best thing in my life.

So that is what our sleeping arrangements have become. Little Bug falls asleep in his own big boy bed, and then sometime in the night comes to have some cuddle time with his mom and dad....just like Appa and I both did with our parents when we were little. Instead of forcing him back to bed, we're going to let this one ride out for a while, since we're all getting something good from it.

Unless Little Bug declares the evening "party time." Because NOTHING good comes from having your son's finger shoved up your nose as he sings "mmmbbaaapaadaa" and laughs while the world around you sleeps. Nothing good.

Kimchi, putakhamnida

Last night Appa and I went to dinner at a local Korean place. Little Bug LOVES Korean food, as do we. We usually order some favorites, but this time we went for the all-you-can-eat barbecue. It's entirely too much food for our little family, but makes sense when you see Little Bug.

Because Little Bug packs . it . back.

It helps that he is cheered on by a small army of Korean waitresses who absolutely adore him, stroking his hair and clapping as he gives them silly smiles. He had no less than 5 women watching him as he single-handedly ate an entire dish of kimchi by himself, pausing occasionally to flash them a silly smile and say "yummmmm" in this ridiculous deep, right-from-the-belly voice.

They cooed when he pointed to me and said "omma" and pointed to his dad and said "appa." When he asked for "bop" (the Korean word for rice), they lost it. They brought me soup and showed me how to mix it with the rice and kimchi to make a dish traditionally served to small children...then they went ahead and worked on battle silverware and helped him eat it while Appa and I sat by and watched.

Here is the thing, normally a woman putting her hands all over my child, taking over and starting to actually feed my child, and just generally being all up in his business would take me over the edge in an unhappy way.

Instead she got a 30% tip and the promise that we will be back soon.

I can't give me son an authentic Korean home or even much of anything authentically Korean, but I am proud of the fact that he will grow up eating kimchi and calling rice "bop" and getting loved on by people whispering Korean in his ear. It is the very least I can do for him.

Our family loves stuffed pizza and brats and casseroles and potatoes, but we're also a family who loves kimchi and bee bim bop and jap chae and huo dduk.

I am super proud of my son for packing back the kimchi like a champ. That kid has one hell of a palate.

More to Love

For a long time I have been really panicked when I think about having two children. Sure, the massive pile of diapers and the nighttime serenades of dueling crying babies is stressful to imagine, but honestly, the deepest worry was if I could really love a second child like I love Little Bug. Little Bug is such a special child, and my love for him has developed in such a special way that I worry sometimes that my love for Little Bro will be appropriate, but maybe just not quite as much as my love for my first born.

Seriously, how could I love two children equally and be all-consumed by them both?

Before we got our referrals, we would say "I love you" in messages, but those words were merely promises, not actual declarations. I loved the idea of him, the construction of a child I held in my heart. Even after we got Little Bug's referral, the pictures of the child we had been waiting years for, we loved the picture of the boy, the idea of him, the essence of him, but still, he could have been taken from us, and we would have moved on with the clarity that he was never really ours to begin with. We loved the idea, the image, the promise; we couldn't, however, love the soul we did not know.

Since accepting Little Bro's referral, I have felt a shift very different from our waiting post-referral with Little Bug. Little Bro feels more like a (my) real child and less like a picture. I think this is in part due to his brother, who is living proof to us that pictures really do equal children and part to the fact that we are going to have more communication (well, one-sided) with Little Bro before he comes home. We are sending him videos of us and pictures of us. Somewhere, on the other side of the world, a little boy is going to see the video of Little Bug doing "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and laugh the same laugh that he will one day laugh when he is sitting on my lap singing the same song. We are going to see videos of him playing and breathing and growing and wearing clothing we sent to him. He is not a myth, not just an image.

More importantly, I feel my heart expanding. When I think of being a mother, I think of both my boys. Sure, I love Little Bug with an intensity that realistically cannot be rivaled with a child I have never called MINE and meant it, but I've been surprised at just how naturally maternal I feel toward Little Bro without feeling like it's all just sweet lip service. My love and concern and hopes for Little Bro don't seem to compete with the love and concern and hopes I have for Little Bug. They both feel very real to me.

Instead of my heart feeling full or tight, it actually feels more open and expanding. I know that my love for Little Bro is nothing compared to what it will be like when we are truly his family, but I feel much more confident that I can love two children equally and deeply.

And with my two big boys...there is just more of them to love.

Spring

Spring is often associated with rebirth or new beginnings. Although neither of those really apply, this Spring feels like a new beginning to us. Little Bug is a different child this year and, for the first time, is really able to explore and interact with everything Spring has to offer him.

Spring is always a favorite season of mine (even in the fickle Midwest), but this particular season in our lives is one of the most beautiful I can ever remember. Everything is seen through new eyes, and it's soft and fragrant and lovely. Watching my son's world finally open for him, flower by flower, pine cone by pine cone, raindrop by raindrop, smell by smell, has been one of the most beautiful experiences of my life.

Let's Talk About Bodily Fluids on Mother's Day

Because really, isn't that what being a mother really boils down to?

Someone who loves you enough to clean your puke off your car seat (do you know how hard cleaning a car seat and the buckles is?), use their jacket as a buffer so you don't have to sit in your own vomit for the speed ride home, sacrifice three changes of clothes just to keep you comfortable in between bought of puke, and just generally (somehow) hold it together while your delicious lunch of chili is defying all logic and pouring out your nose for three disgusting hours.

Yes, that's definitely part of being a mother. Right there with her heart breaking as you moan "all done" each time you feel yourself start to get sick again.

And right there with her a grateful heart when you woke up the next morning with no trace of your food poisoning. Who melted into a puddle of goo as you gave her more unprompted kisses than ever before.

Puke+lot and lots of kisses and genuine smiles = wonderful mother's day.

Mother's Day

There are many mothers in my life who I care deeply for, but lately, there is one particular mother who is often on my mind.

Little Bro's foster mother.

This woman brought Little Bro into her home when he was 8 weeks old. She'd never fostered a child before. She has changed his most epic diapers, feed him in the wee hours of the morning, sang to him when he is upset or scared, taught him to crawl and walk, clothed him, sheltered him....and taught him how to love and trust. She has built her every moment around him for the last 8 months.

And she'll be doing it for 11 more.

I look at their hands together and I can tell these two are a team. She's not just taking care of my baby until we can bring him home, no, she's molding him and shaping him into a personality and individual he will forever become as he leaves babyhood and enters toddlerhood; a point in his life that will shape who he continues to become as he moves into childhood and adulthood.

She is raising MY child. For him. For me. For everyone but herself.

Honestly, I would never be selfless enough to do such a thing. Not for the 9 months Little Bug's wonderful foster mother did it and definitely not for the 19 months Little Bro's foster mother is going to be doing it. I don't have words for how much I cannot understand why she would do such a thing. Little Bug hasn't even been with us for 2 years...when I think about giving him up now, the idea is unfathomable.

This week we were able to send over a little gift for her with a letter that could never really begin to thank her. As reality sets in, we realize that not only is she emotionally investing herself in our son, but financially she is investing in him as well. She must buy bigger clothes and more age appropriate toys for him with her own money. I'm pretty positive no one told her to expect to be fostering a child for 2 years. We're committed to helping her in the limited capacity we have, but it's not enough, nor will it ever be.

So on this Mother's Day weekend, my thoughts are almost solely trained on her, the woman whose hands are holding my son in his infancy and will be leading him into his toddlerhood. The woman who I cannot begrudge all the moments I am missing because I am so overwhelmed with gratitude and respect for the fact that she is willing to take my place in the interim...

...to stick her pinky finger out and let my son hold on tight.

Dear Visitor

Welcome to my blog. I see you found me from a web search that included the words "koreans" and the letter "X" three times in a row. I believe this is the post that led you here.

I think you were most likely disappointed with my blournal content and probably won't be returning again. I think that works for both of us.

Thanks for reminding me why my family blog is private. Don't let the web browser hit you on the way out...

To Sasha's Mama

You don't know me, but our sons are in the same classroom at school. My kid is the gentle giant (who is more giant than gentle most of the time). He can't quite keep up with the busy pace of 2 year olds, but he is trying and really wants to. He's still learning how to grade his movements and express his emotions with friends. He doesn't mean to hit or grab, but unfortunately, he does...a lot.

Consequently, my little son doesn't have many friends.

I am sure as a mother you can imagine how it feels to see kids avoid going near your child, how it feels to see him playing alone, just off from everyone else. I'm sure you can imagine how embarrassing and frustrating and sad it is to watch your sweet child hit another child in the face when you know he is only trying to wave hi to a friend and just can't quite get that close contact thing right. I'm sure you can imagine how scary it is to envision a friendless future for your child. I'm sure you understand how your heart breaks when you peer into the window and see your son sitting alone on a chair, watching with clear longing but paralyzing hesitation as all the other children play and laugh together.

So I wanted to thank you for whatever you have done to raise you son. For some inexplicable reason, you son has declared my son his "best friend." His teachers tell us that everywhere your son goes, he makes sure to take my son's hand and bring him along. He always gets two toys out to play, one for him and one for Little Bug. He always goes out of his way to make sure my son is included. My son sometimes hits him in the face when he gets too close or too excited, and yet, your son doesn't seem to mind one bit (and apparently has lightning fast ducking reflexes).

And yesterday I witnessed this friendship firsthand as your son took my son's hand and brought him over to me. I watched my son's initial surprise turn to delight (and even some pride) as he held his friend's hand and followed him over to his stunned mama. Then he grabbed my face and pointed over to your son over and over. He was excited to "introduce" me to his friend. Having a friend in his corner, someone who he can play and interact with on a personal and equal level, is just as, if not more important than all seven of his weekly therapy sessions combined. His therapists are working on his body, but your little son is working on my little son's soul.

So basically, your 2-year-old son is my hero.

The Glimpse

Sometimes Little Bug's special needs get me down. Sometimes, when I let myself get into a funk, I have a hard time imagining our lives as anything but the now. The strides Little Bug works so . damn . hard . to achieve are easy for me to momentarily write off as never gonna happen.

But they do.

And I know they will, but sometimes I just can't visualize it. It's a failing I am trying hard to get better at, for myself personally and for Little Bug. Little Bug deserves a mama who is able to look past her selfish feelings and believe in him 100% of the time.

So last night when I watched Little Bug eat an entire bowl of turkey chili and mashed potatoes independently and without prompting from me while using his fork, I forced myself to remember when Battle Silverware ruled our lives and caused me such distress. It seems like a distant memory now, an unhappy memory that is already becoming hazy, but still packs a sting.

If only I had the glimpse of last night back then. Instead I'll settle for using this as a reminder that just like the unhappy Battle Silverware phase, all the other things will happen in their own time just as they should.

I 100% know they will.

Let A Sleeping Child Lie

There is an old adage, "let sleeping dogs lie." Or maybe that's not the way it goes, but whatever.

Last night Appa and I got another reality check of "You're Still Novice Parents and Are Idiots Sometimes."

Yesterday we switched Little Bug over to his "big boy" bed, which is really just his crib converted to a toddler bed with a railing. To be honest, he probably isn't exactly 100% ready (as evidenced by his two swan dives right over the side rail less than 3 minutes into his exploration), but he will need to be completely comfortable in his real big boy bed in his big boy room in a year, so we decided to take things one step at a time and start now with the transition. Plus, Little Bug thrives on challenge, so without being pushed, he would probably happily stay in his crib for the next few years.

He loves the new bed. Loves it. He finds being able to declare "out" and then get out himself to be one of the funniest things. Ever. That's a good thing.

But just to really ease into this transition, I rocked him to sleep last night and then placed him in his bed. A few hours later, I heard a soft thump and went to check on him. Sure enough, he was on the ground, facing the opposite way, slumbering peacefully.

STEP AWAY FROM THE SLEEPING CHILD. STEP AWAY FROM THE SLEEPING CHILD. DO NOT TOUCH THE SLEEPING CHILD.

Oh, but I did.

Appa and I thought we should put our peacefully sleeping child back in his bed. Why, because we are idiots. Of course he woke up and spent the next 4 hours (did I mention this all went down around midnight to start with) alternating between crying and demanding to be rocked in the chair and having a grand old time in his new bed while laughing his head off. The cry-it-out method was a big fat joke, although I secretly thought the little pitter patter of his determined feet running toward the door each time I shut it was adorable.

It's less adorable now that I am sitting at my desk at work, double fisting DDP and wondering how I am going to make it through today. Even worse, Little Bug slept through his diaper and clothing change this morning...something I have never in my life seen him do. I don't think today is going to rock for him, either.

So the moral of this story: let a sleeping child lie.

It Never Really Gets Old

Tonight during family wind down time, Appa and I were curled up into each other lounging next to our too-cool-for-school son who has taken to insisting on sitting by himself in the corner of the couch and telling us at various intervals that he that he is doing just that instead of cuddling in our lap.

After a day filled with some nice highs and some sad lows, I noticed that while Little Bug was intently watching his wind down music piece, Appa and I were both staring openly at him. Even though he's seen this particular segment a hundred times, something caught his fancy tonight and Little Bug got this huge grin on his face and let out a peal of laughter before promptly putting his thumb right back in his mouth.

Appa and I both made the same noise at the same time, a mixture of a quiet chuckle and a grateful sigh. I'm beginning to think it will never get old...watching the child who completes your life so thoroughly enjoy their own.