The Boy Who Could Fly

I'm pretty sure Max thinks he's a baby bird.

With a few adorable chirping noises and a lift of his arms, he can command anyone in the house to lift him into the air. With a point of his finger, he sails toward his desired destination with ease. If he were untethered, he would probably bounce off the ceiling, float out the door and disappear into the clouds.

It's amazing how the littlest person in our house is also the person that holds the most power. Like Jack Jack in "The Incredibles", Max gives the impression of a helpless drooler in a diaper that can actually conjure up flaming fireballs of anger with a scream.

What kind of monster are we creating?!?!

Our lives are dictated every moment of the day by the needs and whims of this little being. Want to go somewhere? Too bad, the baby's sick. Want to sleep through the night? Don't be silly.

We've been down this road before. 

Twice before, we've sacrificed our time, our sleep, our personal space and attention for a sweet, adorable dictator without question and without fail. So far, I'm pretty happy with the outcome. They all eventually sleep in their own beds; they eventually find their own independence and their own way to fly.

And for all of the lost opportunities, the dwindling bank account, the missed days at the gym, and the quarters at home feeling tighter than ever, we wouldn't have it any other way. Nothing makes us happier than picking him up, feeding our baby bird stolen bits of French fry and hearing him gobble them down like a gremlin. 

The nest is fuller than ever, but we're doin' just fine. Besides, our baby bird is gonna be too big to pick up some day, so for now, we're not gonna miss a minute.