Captain Red Beard

I feel guilty Mikey gets most of the attention on this blog. It's not intentional--Mikey is just older and therefore prone to funny antics. Make no mistake--Nicholas is as rambunctious as his older brother, if not more so. In fact, if I left Nicholas in his crib long enough with the right tools he would probably fashion a shiv out of his pacifier and use it on me to escape. He's an avowed opponent of any device intended to harness, enclose, or retain children. Car seats? High chairs? Strollers? All implements of torture he resists with every last ounce of strength in his compact little body. One day I will take a series of pictures demonstrating how I put Nico in the car seat. Let's just say it involves sweat, tears, toys, one somersault, and a well-timed pinfall.

He's also an incorrigible flirt. Today at lunch he would not stop screaming at the 97 year old woman sitting with her back to him. He seemed offended she didn't immediately fall victim to his mating call. Like all men, he eventually wore her down with his incessant caterwauling. She turned around and started screaming back at him. The old bird had moxie! Nicholas, suddenly face to face with his paramour, did what any lovestruck hero would in his shoes: pulled his shirt over his head and attempted a Swan Dive out of the stroller. It was very romantic.

And that is Nicholas: robust, earthy, and full of life. Not unlike the dinner he devoured earlier this week. Part comedy and part horror show, The Mister, Mikey, and I could do nothing more than sit slack jawed as Nicholas inhaled his pasta. At one point Mikey, with a look of pure disgust, turned to us and said, "Can you please clean him? And can you tell him to never eat like that ever again?" I'm afraid not, Mikey. I suspect Nicholas is going to eat like he lives: passionately.