Boys will be boys. And Cats.

I've been trying real hard to break JT of his boob problem. Ever since removing him from any type of breastfeeding he's bottle crazy and nipple crazy. On both the bottle and me. It finally reached a pinnacle of creepiness where I'd begin to laugh instead of cry when he'd shove his hand down my shirt and try to weasel into my bra which made it difficult to maintain my stern warning of keeping hands out. You can only imagine JT's confusion. I win the battle but not without some difficulty. Tonight he tried again while we played and he started crying. Like honest to goodness I can't believe my mom keeps telling me no. I kept explaining that we didn't do that anymore. And he'd cry back, "yeah yeah yeah!" which actually means please. To distract him after the fourteenth time of saying no we began playing all fall down. That's just a fancy term for pushing each other over on the bed and saying, "DOWN!" A very short Ring Around the Rosy, if you will. A few minutes before nine he and I crawled into the recliner and snuggled before bed. He laid in my arms like a teeny tiny baby. His hair was almost dry from bath time, the curls framing his face perfectly and his eyes half-closed with sleep. He nuzzled in the crook of my arm with the little head waggle he used to do after he finished nursing. He smiled and looked up at me and all I could say back was I love you. He turned his head to the side and proceeded to f aux lick me and said softly, "meow. meow." And then fake licked me again. He climbed down off my lap and stood still for the briefest of moments. I was still enjoying the softer side of this boy when he picked up his bat and proceeded to yell, "BAAA!" and strike the play pen, coffee table and chair on the way out of the room. I