No!

Scooter is just getting yummier by the day. He has delicious chubby little arms and legs and tummy. And big fat cheeks when he smiles. He is so cute!

He is also very very good at saying "No." His little mouth makes a little 'o' that matches he emphatic little 'o' eyes. It isn't a rambling no-no-no. It is a direct answer to a question. "Scooter, do you want a bean?" "No." (Although frequently, he will take the bean afterwards.)

My mother thinks this is the saddest thing ever. A baby who goes around saying no! Because all he ever hears is no! Roadblocks and negativity litter his poor little life. No. No. No. But this is actually not true. Sure, he hears the word a lot, but it is not usually directed at him. He is at the sitter with two 3 year olds, one of whom is exceptionally naughty, and Jelly, who is no novice at naughtiness himself. And he lives with Jelly. Jelly, he hears the word "no" a lot. Mostly because he is tromping through the house hollering like he is being chased by a herd of baby elephants on a rampage. Or is, perhaps, pretending to be that same angry hoard. That gets a "no". Brother gets told "no" too, particularly when he is begging for me to buy him a Beyblade off ebay that is shipped from Hong Kong and is likely to be full of Chinese lead, kill my babies, and write run on sentences. "No."

Scooter, however, is still enjoying the cutie-baby-can-do-no-wrong stage. Literally, we caught him in the bathroom practically hidden in a mound of unrolled toilet paper. Did we fuss? No, we took a picture.

Yes.