(And probably a little bit to do with the fact that he shares a room with his sisters that has no door and is located immediately off the kitchen.)
All along, I've been certain that Henry would wean himself at 10-months like his brother did. Or most definitely by 17-months like his sisters did.
Because ... because ... that's what babies do.
But it's been so different with Henry. All along, it's been different. He's never had a regimented schedule like the triplets did. Sure, I could have put him on a regimented schedule, but then - our entire lives would have revolved around one child's sleeping routine, which is tough when you have four children.
So at night when he would cry, I would scoop him up because I didn't want him to wake up the rest of the family and besides - they grow up so, so fast and really how much trouble is it to let him sleep next to me and nurse? Or catch a snooze on the couch while listening to his dad play guitar?
Or sleep while laying across my lap while I respond to work e-mail?
Or pay the bills?
To date, I remain convinced that he will wean himself when he is ready. Or before he turns
I've offered him food. I've offered him drink. I sit him down with a bowl of Cheerios and he tosses them across the table, tries to climb under my shirt while pointing at my chest and yelling "APPWLES!!!"
That's what he calls them.
APPLES. Like the fruit.
Which I suppose is better than William who walked in while I was getting dressed the other day and after taking a moment to size me up, declared "Mom, I really like those squishy things."
Personal boundaries? Privacy? What's that?!
I haven't seen either since I've become a mother.