Paternal Instincts

After we decorated our tree on Sunday, we watched How The Grinch Stole Christmas and drank hot chocolate to celebrate (the old cartoon Grinch, not the more recent live action abomination with Jim Carey -- we are a people of firm moral principles). The Grinch is a very big deal in my family -- we have watched it at least once every year since I was a baby, and I think that all of us could quote the entire movie with frightening accuracy. We watched it last year, and my mum got Max stuffed animal representations of the Grinch and his dog (who is also named Max) last Christmas, but Max was too little to really embrace the tradition. This year, the movie made a much larger impression. In the days since our viewing, Max has earnestly discussed with me: the Grinch's initial meanness, his redemption at the end, the way he slithers through the room stealing presents, the fact that he is green, and the troubling question of whether or not he is naked (Max tends to favor the theory that he is, in fact, naked, despite my feeble explanation that he has fur and therefore doesn't need pants.) These literary details aside, Max is delighted by the fact that the Grinch's dog shares his name. He has been playing with the stuffed dog Max quite a bit, and today he decided that Dog Max was a baby, that Boy Max was his Dada, and Dog Max was treated to an outpouring of paternal attention.

Dog Max was tenderly fed a jam sandwich made of duplos, washed down with some imaginary milk out of a hand-crafted lego bottle.

Dog Max was then carefully dressed in a diaper (borrowed from his Auntie Maggie's stash), an orange onesie (also borrowed from Maggie), and then swaddled in a warm blanket.

Boy Max is evidently a parent who subscribes to the school of co-sleeping, because after Dog Max was put to bed, Boy Max declared authoritatively, "He crying. I hold him", lay down next to his canine offspring, and then, in a high-pitched croon, sing-songed, "Night night Max. Love you", while patting his back.

Cutest. Boy. Ever.