Grahm has been biting butts. I'm in the kitchen, cleaning after a baking episode, when I feel him grab onto my leg like an alligator. It's clear to me that he's about to bite. Once he's wrapped around my leg, I have a sudden memory of Barrett biting my butt this same way. Like some kind of beast attacking during a moment in which the prey is distracted. It's only my behind either of the kids have ever bitten. I suppose I should feel honored, or am I the only one that lets myself be exposed this way? It must be a teething thing. Graham is biting everything. The couch, Bear's knee, towels, my knuckles.
I'm in the middle of an attack, shuffling left to get away from the open-mouthed, fast approaching baby, when bear says, "Mama, look at this mama." He drives a dinosaur-looking hot-wheels across the page of his search and find book. "Did you see that?"
"Wow." My go-to answer. "Amazing."
He's in a mood to show me everything he does. It must be a four thing. Everything he does is simply amazing. Driving an RC car over a rock, ramming a toy tractor over a bump in the carpet, bouncing off the yoga ball, launching himself from the couch to the ottoman. He's newly inspired by his new age and it seems all the same stuff he was doing a couple weeks ago is now much, much cooler.
Or, there is the other possibility, that he needs a little more attention, a little more encouragement, and a little more assurance now that he's feeling out a world where he is older. I give it to him as best I can, even when I feel a chomp on my bum and remind myself to switch from yoga pants to Wranglers.