Henry is currently experiencing the classic separation anxiety of the 11-month old. This stage in Margaret's life nearly drove me to madness, but that was after a year of angry screaming, interminable bedtime routines, endless teething and the consequential sleep disruptions and the isolation of being a new stay at home mom. When M was 14 months old, I suddenly realized that I hadn't eaten a meal in 2 months without holding a baby for at least a part of the meal. The same thing is happening now, in that I end up having to hold H for at least part of every meal, but so far it's only mildly irritating. Still irritating, but less so. I guess my personal space is more accustomed to being invaded. It helps that H is so super-cuddly, so just when I'm at my wits' end and need some space, he gives me a big hug and kiss and I could just eat him up. M is actually cuddly and very lovey now, but as an infant, she wanted to be held all the time, but not snuggled close. She literally held us at arms length when she was 3 months old, demanding to be picked up and walked around the house, but she literally held her arm out onto my chest like the guy on the Heisman trophy. I think the other thing that makes this easier with Henry is that I know that in a few months (or maybe even 7 months, god forbid), it will be over, and he'll be more independent. I can see the end, and since H is most likely the last baby, it's more bittersweet than annoying. Most of the time.

Of course, there are those days that I wonder if there is a daycare out there who can take him right now. Right. Now.

Recently at church, several people have kindly come up to me and told me not to hold H so much so that he doesn't become a mama's boy. Whatever.