Oh, Henry

Remember how awkward Chelsea Clinton used to be?

And she probably still would be if she didn't have a gillion dollars to spend on hair, makeup, and wardrobe. Don't get me wrong, I like Chelsea. You have to feel for a girl thrust into the national spotlight at the horrendous age of 12. It just seems that she struck out in the genetic lottery, like she got the worst features of both parents combined into one homely package.

I'm worried that Henry, too, lost the genetic jackpot. Not as far as appearance, because he is one adorable ass baby. I am worried about his personality, specifically Husband's persnicketyness combined with my stubbornness.

In order to get him to sleep I had to rock in the glider, pat his bottom, shush in his ear, cover his eyes, and let him suck on my finger all at the same time. Not a pacifier, my finger (see Husband's persnicketyness). And not one or two of these. All five, every time he went to sleep, for months on end (see my stubbornness).

This tendency to want exactly what he wants only the way he wants it is now spilling over to eating solids. He will eat in my lap (not the high chair), if the food is super hot, and only if it pureed until it is almost liquid with no texture at all. Sometimes. I don't know why we thought this would be easier than anything else so far.

Oh, Henry. I have to tell myself what I used to tell the parents of my especially annoying students. What drives you crazy when they are little will be a character strength when they are older. I hope Henry's kindergarten teacher shares that philosophy!