Master Wicke

Last night, while I was talking to my mom on the phone, she casually mentioned that she had checked my blog that day to see "if she had missed anything" but found that nothing new had been posted for a while. It's true. While I have composed nearly 102 posts in my head, nothing has reached paper, and I'm blaming it all on the new master of the house.

I can't call him my boss because that suggests some sort of financial reimbursement for my troubles, but, to be sure, he is bossy. He insists on being fed very often during the day and is in no rush to complete the job. Then there is the rocking, cuddling, and cajoling that I do to try to get him to sleep, but that is to little avail. Just moments after putting him down, he seems to be begging to be held again. And of course there is the diapering, the bathing, the powdering, the lotioning, and the dressing, most of which can occupy a full morning. Mr. Wicke and I both have commented that we had forgotten how much time a new little baby takes.

Not that I mind. Not even the sleepless days, for he is sleeping so soundly at night that I might have been caught more than once checking to be sure he is still breathing. As I told my mom, I can deal with the days as long as I am well rested.

Overall, he is a delightful baby who is beginning to coo and whose smiles continue to turn me into a puddle of mommy goo. However, he doesn't seem to care a whit about the things that need to be accomplished around here. And to tell you the truth, his opinion is rubbing off on me. There is nothing I'd rather do than sit and rock my baby in all his bossy glory.