“OK,” I said cautiously, “you can come sit on my coffeetime lap if you want to cuddle,” weighing the word cuddle meaningfully.
“OK,” D-baby said sweetly, nodding with eyes as big as he could make them. Up on the lap, up into my arms. For a brief moment I was able to enjoy the little legs and arms, the soft tufts of toddler hair. Then the wiggling and the arching began. Ah the true Machiavellians, the toddlers.
“Noooo D-baby,” I admonished, “we only nursey once a day, not right now!”
“YEEEEEEESSSS! NUUURSSSSSEYYYYYYY!” the stutter-temper-cry started, tensing me instantly.
“D-baby, D-baby,” I said calmly, straightening him up, “You’ll be THREE soon, and three year olds don’t nurse!” I silently prayed for forgiveness as I left off “in my house.”
“I a BABY!” he retorted. Choosing not to respond to that, I said “WHAT are we going to do for your BIRTHDAY party? You’ll be THREE soon!”
“Do you want a pool party? A pizza party?”
“Noooooooooooooooooooo,” he grinned.
“Do you want a party together with Nomi?”
“NOOO! It’s MY ONE! Nomi can’t have my party!” he shouted indignantly.
“Well,” I asked again, “What kind of party do you want?”
He grinned mischievously…. “A NURSEY party! A BOOBY party! At the ComPOOTER party!”