These days, we're all just hoping that he has a good session of belly laughing and doesn't break his nose from flipping over the back of the couch. He's crazy and he knows what he wants. It's weird to think that when we moved in here--almost a year ago!--he was a drooly blob that couldn't be left alone. I sometimes look at him as he watches his "shows" and eats blueberries on the couch (that he sat on by himself,) and think that he doesn't need us anymore. Flash forward to five minutes after that peaceful sit sesh, and it's tugging on mom's knee caps wanting whatever he wants and whining about Bowie being upstairs. Everything is "mommy" and mommy is his everything. Brit usually comes in to save the night and whisks him upstairs for some rough housing while Alex, Megh, and I watch a bad TLC or ABC Family show. Or the Bachelor. Two nights ago, this is what happened, and Brit and the babe came back downstairs and caught a glimpse of the "Man with the 132 lb. Scrotum" special. Bear plopped into my lap and quietly passed out with food in his hand. I guess that's his new thing since the breast feeding-to-sleep battle is finally over! I can roll with that.