One night at the dinner table, Paul asked politely to be excused early by wriggling in his high chair and screeching. He wasn’t very hungry because I’d had to bribe him with lots of food so that he’d let me make dinner. So Sam and I got to enjoy about 3.5 peaceful moments of calorie consumption and conversation while Paul grabbed the curtain rod he’d ripped from the kitchen window earlier and carried it around and serenaded it.
And then we saw a tiny hand reaching up to the edge of the table, to grab a handful of broccoli:
We’re working on table manners, but at least he eats his vegetables.