It appears that, as the toddler grows, the endearing behaviors must increase in direct proportion to the less-than-charming tendencies. If the toddler failed to kick his/her cuteness into high gear, one would simply leave the toddler on the side of the road, and skip away merrily, singing a little song to oneself, tra la.
So, for instance, we begin the day with the following uncuteness:
Henry decides he hates my breakfast, which happened to be a crumpet covered in almond butter. My crumpet! My breakfast-y delight, all my own, which was not bothering him one bit! He lunges at my plate and slaps at the sticky almond buttered top until the entire crumpet attaches itself to his hand, and then runs shrieking toward the dog, who is only too happy to help him out, crumpet-wise.
It was my last crumpet. I wanted that crumpet. Ever had a crumpet? They're good.
But before I can kick him to the curb, the above is canceled out by the extreme adorability of the following:
We run into Henry’s girlfriend E. (and yes, I mean girlfriend—I watch him running his fingers through her hair and covering her face in kisses and I want to either get them married NOW or lock him up until he’s 16) and her mother on the street; as we adults discuss our plans to escape someday to a Land Where No One Attacks Breakfasts, Henry takes E.’s hand and the two of them toddle down the street hand in hand, grinning. Then Henry turns to her and says, “Beautiful day.”
Can one abandon such a child on the street? It appears that one cannot. Once again the toddler wins.