Normally, when it's lunchtime, we all go upstairs together. Tom and I run around getting Abby's lunch together as quickly as possible, in the hopes that we can get her settled and get our own lunches eaten before Michael gets tired of sitting in the high chair.
Today, however, Abby got it in her head that she wanted lunch "right now," as Tom was going upstairs for some other quick task, so he let her through the gate to join him in his ascent. I elected to stay downstairs with Michael for a bit longer, since he was playing happily. I also had the mad thought that if I perhaps gave Tom a head start in getting everything ready for all of us, I could bring Michael up at the last minute and have a good shot at enjoying my lunch at a decent pace, without either enduring Michael's banging and whining in my ear, or pulling his grabby self onto my lap as I attempted to get in those last few bites.
As most plans like this often do, it backfired. Two things I've learned about my son in his nine short months: he lives for commotion, activity, and the presence of people, and he detests being left behind. He made a beeline for the gate when he saw his daddy and sister leaving, and pulled himself to standing, staring forlornly out through the confining bars.
When he heard me come around behind him, he perked up a little and gave me a half-smile, as if to say, "Check me out, Mom! I'm standing!"
But then he quickly returned his attentions to figuring out a means of escape. Look how intensely focused he is.
And, I swear, he appears to be checking for structural deficiencies in this shot.
He's a sweet little guy, though, and I just can't deny him.
I took that one last shot, then put down the camera and grabbed up my little cuddlebug. Sure, he filled my all-too-brief lunchtime moments with noise and commotion, but what kind of lunch would it really be without a little chaos, after all?