A Peculiar Declaration

It was one of those mornings where the house was filled with the sounds of sad little boys. The previous afternoon had been spent at the pediatrician's office, a visit that ended with both boys getting several shots, so their angst was entirely expected. Not being particularly caught off-guard, I was able to move through the sounds of crying and screaming to get done with the morning routine. Simon was rather easily appeased, but Henry was having none of my soothing. That's nothing new.

With Simon mostly relaxed and secured in his carseat for the ride to the grandparents' house, I sat Henry down on the couch to put on his shoes. This is a boy who loves his shoes. They're green with black trim, and just the thought of putting anything else on his feet amounts to blasphemy in his mind. Thus, the shoe putting-on ritual is typically one that he enjoys. He calmed down as I slipped them onto his feet, mentally checking "get Henry ready" off of my list for the morning.

Henry stayed seated on the couch as I finished with the last few bits of business. It was then that he said something that I found rather bizarre:

"I'm done crying now, Daddy."

What did he say? "You what?"

"I'm done crying now, Daddy."

"Oh. Oh. Kaaaaay."

I gave him a hug. I really didn't know quite how to respond because I didn't know quite what he was telling me. Was he really feeling better? Was he trying to pull it together? Or, oh my God, was I giving off some sort of gross "I'd love you more if you'd just stop crying" vibe? I'm not exactly a "men don't cry ya pussy!" kind of guy, so the last one seemed a bit ridiculous.

Still, it had me a bit bugged. Sometimes when I see joggers running by, my evil side creeps up and I imagine their inner voice goading them on with wicked encouragements along the lines of "Must keep running...must shed more pounds so as to be deserving of love and kindness." Of course, I don't actually mean it, but it gives me a laugh. I don't really know what this has to do with my son's oddball statement, other than the fact that sometimes I'm afraid I'll inadvertently interject a bit of my dark humor at an inappropriate moment, and just really mess the kid up.

The ride to the grandparents' was tear free. I guess he really was just done crying for the morning, and wanted me to know about it. What a little person.