who cares what anyone else thinks?

At 33 months of age, Henry still has a pacifier.



I never would have believed that I'd have an almost three-year-old sucking a pacifier, but I do. Then again, I never imagined that I'd nurse a child until they were 2.5-years old, but I did that, too. And I'm very glad I stopped when I did, because there is NO way he would have self weaned before Kindergarten.

And that would have been awkward.

At least for me.

"Uh. You want an apple? Here's one, love!"



A few weeks ago, I wrote that when Henry wakes up from his nap, he'll sit on my lap and put his hand under my shirt to touch my skin. I received more than one e-mail from people who felt compelled to tell me that it is TMI and totally inappropriate.

Totally inappropriate?

My goodness, he's not GROPING. He's got one hand resting on my waist. Or back. Or somewhere in the abdominal region, pinching my belly roll.

What? Your toddler doesn't do that?

Maybe it's because I nursed him for the first 2.5 years of his life that Henry's bond is touch.



Every morning, he'll crawl in to bed with us and curl up next to me for an hour or more. It's one of the highlights of my day. He won't get up until I do and even then, he'll cry because all he wants is for me to hug him close. If Henry had it his way, he'd stay curled up next to me always. At least until someone opened the front door to the house, and then he'd take off running just as fast as his little legs will carry him.

There is no doubt, he is the most cuddly of our four children. Which is shocking to believe because when he's not cuddling with me he can be an absolute tyrant, swiftly taking down children twice his size. Although Henry hasn't been back to the church nursery for over a month, after watching him in a jump house at a friend's recent birthday party, I could see why he was booted out of the nursery.

Repeatedly.

Having birthed multiples once before, I've always believed things would be far less complicated if Henry had a twin. Because everyday of his life, he has been surrounded by children that are bigger and older than he is. Children who will often run away and not show any interest in playing with him.

Sometimes, the older kids are running away because they like to see their little brother chase them. Other times, they're running away because they don't want to be bothered. In either case, I'm always watching and always encouraging that they play nicely and not hurt his feelings, or - I'll find something for Henry to do so that he isn't invading their quiet time.

(Henry! Quick, come touch Mommy's bell roll!!)

Whenever Henry is in the company of children who are the same size or smaller than he, I can tell that he is socially unprepared and perplexed.

How do I communicate with these little beings?

Do I hit them? Kick them?

Body slam them?

While I'm very strict when it comes to playing gently with other children, I'm especially aware that I grant Henry much more leniency than I did with his siblings. When the triplets were his age, they were on a very strict schedule. Mealtimes, bed times, play times - everything was so carefully orchestrated throughout our day.

But now, with *only* one toddler, I find myself making concessions left and right.

He gets away with so much more.

Sometimes we're out doing things, so Henry naps in his stroller, in his car seat, or doesn't nap at all. During Henry's tenure, there have never been any baby gates in the house. Henry has free reign. And if he doesn't want to eat dinner, he doesn't have to. While everyone else is seated eating broccoli, he'll climb out of his booster seat and run around while chomping on a banana because Mommy and Daddy quickly cave since they don't want to hear the screams of protest.

None of us can tolerate the screaming.

Even the triplets will beg that we let him down from the table, even if it means they still have to sit there and eat their vegetables.

Sure, he goes in to time out, but we lack consistency. Because there is only one and because he is so stinking cute. Even when he's throwing a tantrum. Throughout it all, I almost always remain certain that Henry will turn out just fine and this stage of unbelievable defiance is just a blip on the radar screen of childhood.

My primary goal is to hang on and enjoy this awesome ride.

But I'm not always so confident.

One day last week, we were at Legoland and Henry was dressed in his tattered Buzz Lightyear costume. It was drawing close to nap time and he was getting a little punchy and a lot loud, so I slipped him his pacifier and pulled him on to my lap. But only after he had thrown himself on the ground kicking and screaming and drawing a load of stares because I wouldn't let him hold and eat an ENTIRE box of crackers.

Once he was in my arms, one of his little hands was immediately searching for skin.

It doesn't happen very often, but I felt very self conscious. The out of control toddler, the dirty costume, the pacifier attached to him with no less than three carabiners, the little hand up my shirt resting on my waist. I doubt that more than a hand full were really looking at us, but it certainly felt like they were.

Who is calling the shots here? Me or my toddler?



For a moment, I had the feeling that my lack of consistency and discipline was catching up to us and now, I'm ruining our child and I'm an absolutely reckless and careless mother. Never before did our triplets throw a monster tantrum like that when we were out in public (at least not that I can recall?), because they were always so well rested and scheduled.

I need to throw down the law.

Who's the boss?

I'M THE BOSS.

I will not be run over by a two-year-old.



As these thoughts are passing through my mind, I look over and see a little boy who was about four-years-old. He had just come off a ride and his mother was waiting for him outside the exit gate. Once he joined her, he started to throw a fit until the mother reached in to her bag and pulled out a baby bottle. Then, she opened her cooler and took out a can of Crush orange soda.

Cracking open the bottle and then the can, she poured the soda in to the baby bottle, screwed on the top, and handed it to her son, who plopped down on a bench and proceeded to suck it down, entirely. Fortunately, I was wearing sunglasses to hide my eyes which were bugging out of my head, because then the mother pulled out a can of chew, shoved a wad in to her mouth, and sat down next to him.

She appeared happy.

He appeared happy.

I am in NO way going to judge this mother's methods.



Although, I am going to feel slightly relieved because surely she'd draw more stares than me.