So this past Sunday was the first birthday of our friends' son, and we were invited to an exclusive (well ... family only) party to celebrate. We arrived with bells on, excited to see our friends for the first time since Henry's birthday. The daddies were outside grilling while the mommies (and grandmommy) coralled the kids inside. Mr. and Mrs. P had secured their enormous living room and filled it with balloons and toys. What on earth could be better for the 18-months-and-under set (or, indeed, the 3-7 crowd once their little tummies were full of delicious treats)? Henry loves other little ones, and he quickly fell into a "conversation" with the birthday boy and his cousin. They were so cute, sharing their sippy cups and babbling, giggling and pointing at each other. Adorable. At any rate, in all the excitement the birthday boy toppled over and bonked his head on the fireplace. Being the closest person over 3, I immediately grabbed him and started to soothe him, as he was more scared than hurt. As I rubbed his little noggin (and - more importantly - he saw his mommy come running) he started to calm down. Just in time, too. Mrs. P. arrived to scoop her little guy up just as mine began to melt down. Henry did NOT like to see somebody else in his mama's arms, and he threw a royal fit to let everyone know.
Of course he cooled down after a few moments of back-rubbing and forehead kisses, but it was kind of a big deal at the time. It was the first time Henry ever had to share Mama with a "stranger", and even though I hated seeing him upset, I have to admit it was kind of ... sweet(?). He's such a sweet little guy, and usually pretty good about sharing things, but it's kind of touching that -right now at least- I'm the one thing he does not share.
Fine. He does own me. And I'm okay with that.
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